


Alone, I had Only to Wish

by nisakomi



Category: EXO (Band), K-pop
Genre: Car Accidents, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2018-05-05 03:34:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5359586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nisakomi/pseuds/nisakomi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I felt that I had been happy and that I was happy again. For everything to be consummated, for me to feel less alone, I had only to wish that there be a large crowd of spectators the day of my execution and that they greet me with cries of hate.” – Albert Camus, The Stranger</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alone, I had Only to Wish

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: alternate reality, angst, (((car accident)))
> 
> written as part of the runandgun exchange for lunathunderhead

Jongin is seven when he first joins a ballet school. His mother holds his hand as they enter the studio where the auditions are held and he has no expectations. When the adjudicators announce the names and numbers of those accepted into the Primary Boys I class, Jongin’s name is not called out. He is not altogether surprised, even if he is disappointed. 

“Park Jaehyun, number twenty-seven, and Kim Jongin, number forty-one, please come with me.”

Jongin lifts his head sharply and wonders what’s going on. A stern faced woman leads him into a smaller empty studio. 

“We would like to offer you two positions in our Primary Boys II class. It seems that both of you would be excellent additions.” 

Jongin is speechless. 

“Why don’t we ask your parents what they think?” 

At age seven, he is one of only two newcomers to the Primary Boys II class. A class where the established hierarchy does not want to be shifted. At that age, Jongin already understands that the perceived value of a dancer is articulated through the curve of their elbows, the bend of their fingers, and the tapering off of sharp, delicate lines. And having the best lines was the only thing that really mattered to him, to the other students, to their teacher, and to the world.

The thirteen pairs of eyes that examine him when he enters the studio don’t affect him at all. They analyze him without subtlety, looking him up and down, wondering if he’ll be any good, wondering if they would be able to best him if it came down to a competition. He can almost see the thoughts running through their minds like the lines of a book, open and easy to read. 

Within moments of their first warm-up exercise, a simple circle sequence done to an upbeat mazurka, it becomes apparent to his peers that Jongin possesses a certain gift. He has an inherent talent for dance, and even if he is just a young boy, too small and bony without the muscle structure of a man, there is a certain fluidity in his actions, movement without jarring or jerkiness. The air with which he carries himself is not typical for a seven year old; everyone’s eyes are immediately drawn to him.

While his teacher leads them through pliés and tendus at the barre, Jongin pays attention only to his body. He takes care to suck in his stomach, until he remembers to point his toes and in doing so forgets about his tummy. As focused on posture as he is, he does not notice the other boys around him who are quietly jostling for closest position to him, trying to catch his eye and whisper, “partner?” to secure a place beside him. What they really want is to be a part of the pair that impresses the woman at the front of the room, the woman with a solemn look on her face, gray hair pulled back into a tight bun, the same woman who had auditioned Jongin and noticed something special.

She lets them battle for positions as her “favourites”. It remains her only source of unique entertainment in this setting, like a civilized bullring where boys throw each other under the bus in hopes of receiving one or two words of acknowledgement. She holds onto praise tightly, pressing her lips together firmly as she watches, knows that any compliments will be rarer than ever with this new boy in the studio.

The studio cannot contain Jongin as he gallops across the room with the boy who won the power struggle to be his partner. The teacher smiles at them without saying a word, and proceeds to outline every mistake that the other pairs make with an exasperated sort of tone. The boy with Jongin thanks him, to Jongin’s confusion. He’s small and broad-shouldered, but powerful and smooth in his dancing. Later, as soon as they finish their reverence, he will introduce himself, and Jongin will nod coolly without processing the name, leaving the change rooms before the others have gotten their shirts on.

Jongin won’t remember any of their names, doesn’t remember becoming friends with any of them. Not for lack of others trying, but because he doesn’t see a point when they don’t really want to be friends with him, just friends with what he might eventually come. He resents that a little, resents that he’s only worth the reputation that precedes him, and that if he failed to meet their expectations for him, he’d be worth nothing to them.

None of them will remember the other boy who joined the class, the one who came in the same year as Jongin. The small boy with spectacles and poor turn out, but with just as much heart and soul as the others, the boy who ends up totally ignored. Though he doubles his efforts to keep up with some of the more advanced students, he will be forgotten and neglected and no one will ask about him when he drops out halfway through their fourth year. Jongin won’t say anything, but he will remember.

He remembers when he’s auditioning for the School of Performing Arts, he remembers when he’s auditioning for SM, when he auditions over and over. He remembers that there were two boys, one who excelled, and another who didn’t, and he knows which one he has to be at all cost. He knows which one he has to be when they interview him, when they ask him “do you want to dance?” and Jongin tells them no, tells them that he _needs_ to dance. The interviewer smiles at him, and he thanks George Balanchine.

 

  
Jongin is sixteen when he makes Sehun come for the first time. Or maybe fifteen, he can’t be sure.

Jongin isn’t the greatest at making friends. People only gravitate towards him when he’s dancing, but take away the barre and dance floor, he is aloof and alone. The lack of friends is a mixture between others being too scared to approach him and him being too scared to approach others.

He’s not like Sehun, who seems to naturally attract everyone around him.

Sehun doesn’t try to make him laugh; he tells awful jokes that Jongin laughs at anyway, by virtue of how ridiculous they are and the faces Sehun makes when he tells them. Jongin laughs easily and earnestly at stupid things, and Sehun readily obliges him without thinking. Instead of asking Jongin about Jongin, Sehun tells Jongin about Sehun, recounts trivial facts about his family, about his life before this school, and even things that happened just yesterday, like burning his tongue on the ramyun and being grateful he can’t taste how crappy the cafeteria food is today. They tease each other when they get too gangly to know what to do with their limbs, and give each other advice when choreography isn’t coming smoothly. Jongin isn’t usually serious even if he acts like he always is, and Sehun brings out the kid in him.

Jongin appreciates Sehun’s playfulness. It reminds him that just because someone isn’t being serious doesn’t mean that their heart’s not into it. Sehun makes dancing fun, manages to help Jongin channel the onstage personality into the offstage one, and he feels like a normal boy his age again. He doesn’t notice that they’ve become inseparable until one day someone introduces them as “Jongin, the best dancer in the school,” and “Sehun, his best friend,” and Jongin doesn’t know which statement makes him laugh harder.

It happens when they’re showering after dance practice. They’re the only ones left because they stay rehearsing longest, and being naked beside each other is nothing new, but then Sehun gives a little moan and Jongin turns to look at him. Sehun’s head is tilted back, steam rolling off his skin, he’s half hard and looking every bit a naked teenage boy.

Jongin touches him instinctively; hand already on Sehun’s cock before he knows what he’s doing. He never really figures out what he’s doing, fingers wrapped around Sehun and stroking relentlessly. It’s awkward. It’s awkward because Sehun’s his best friend, and he’s jacking Sehun off in the showers. It’s awkward because he’s kind of at a loss for what to do but Sehun thinks he has everything in control. All Jongin knows is what makes himself feel good, and little tips that Taemin hyung has taught him in order to be discrete in the dorms, but all that is useless now. There’s no one but them in the showers, and the angle is completely wrong compared to how Jongin usually holds his arm, the movement giving him a cramp in his wrist, and he has no idea how close Sehun is because he’s not Sehun.

But Sehun keeps making these little noises, hums of appreciation, gasps, and groans and he looks like his legs are going to give out at any moment, and suddenly one of Sehun’s hands is gripping Jongin’s shoulder tightly, and he backs them up against the wall so that he can lean against it and not have to hold himself upright. Jongin thinks that with the state Sehun’s in, he must be doing something right. So he keeps going, snaps his wrist jerkily, running the ring he’s formed around Sehun’s cock up and down, everything feeling slick from the shower and Sehun’s moaning grows louder. Jongin’s sure by now, sure that there’s a sensation building in Sehun, sure that he feels damn good with Jongin’s palm providing all the heat and friction Sehun could want.

He squeezes his fingers gently and pauses. Sehun whimpers loudly and obscenely and Jongin relishes how much control he has, how he can make Sehun feel good but also feel needy at the same time. He redoubles his efforts, ignoring the soreness in his hand and pumping Sehun, pumping and pumping. Sehun arches forward into him, so desperate and so close, and Jongin runs his thumb across Sehun’s slit. Sehun thrusts twice into Jongin’s hand before coming; he loses all the energy in his body, doubling over against Jongin for support.

Afterwards, they don’t talk about what happened. Jongin wonders what Sehun would have done if Jongin hadn’t reached out, he wonders if Sehun would have jacked off in front of him, he asks himself if he would have watched, if he would have gotten hard too, and joined him, two teenage boys in the showers getting off in the middle of the night. There’s a thought in the back of his mind that he doesn’t want to think about - that he thoroughly enjoyed feeling the weight of Sehun’s cock in his hand, that he didn’t mind jerking him off at all. He doesn’t exactly wonder if this is what it’s like to be in a relationship, but they go from best friends to best friends who get each other off pretty damn quick.

 

  
Jongin is eighteen when the first EXO teaser finally rolls out. They say EXO, but it’s only Kai, a car, and a pocket watch. They gather together behind a laptop screen, tiny in comparison to the number of them, twelve grown men squeezed too close together and craning their necks to see not much more than a few twirls and overuse of flash camera techniques and water effects. Jongin gets to sit on the only actual chair because he’s the only one in the teaser, but part of him would rather not watch at all. Lu Han hyung somehow manages to push his way to sit beside him, and Jongin is mostly relieved to have someone else’s thigh pressing against his. It grounds him, a little, in this moment where his dreams of becoming a star are finally being realized. He has to hold his breath the entire way through. Lu Han notices and squeezes his knee.

When the video ends, he can see Lu Han’s eyes crinkle and his lips form a smile out of his peripheral vision. Chanyeol makes some kind of ugly laughing noise and starts to clap. Jongin’s not sure if he’s being made fun of until everyone else starts cheering for him too, and he thinks he understands, he thinks that they’re all allowing themselves a moment of elation, finally realizing that this is real, that they’re an actual band, and they’re going to debut. They pat him on the back, ruffle his hair, whoop with joy, and he lets himself laugh with them, feeling truly happy for the first time in a long while.

Someone puts their arm around Jongin’s shoulder and whispers congratulations into his ear. He doesn’t realize that it’s Lu Han hyung until after almost everyone else has dispersed. Chanyeol pulls Jongin onto the couch for a few celebratory rounds of Halo, and Jongin allows himself to be louder than usual whenever he gets a kill. He thinks he probably deserves it. Chanyeol shrieks every time he gets killed, and Jongin laughs at him every time, takes no mercy as Chanyeol swears at him relentlessly and loudly. After each game, Chanyeol pulls him into a headlock and Kyungsoo looks at them both with so much displeasure that they end up helping him set the plates and food on the table for dinner. Chanyeol drags him around the dorms to round up the others so that they can eat together. He’s incredibly obnoxious about the whole process, but Jongin laughs instead of telling him to shut up.

 

After most of them are finished eating, Joonmyeon goes through a quick briefing to give them a rundown on the next day’s plans. He’s probably saying something relevant and useful when Jongin pulls out his phone to text Lu Han, wondering where he is. 

Lu Han texts back ‘ _with a friend_ ’ and an excess of squiggles that makes Jongin wonder if Lu Han is actually twelve years old. 

He jokingly asks, ‘ _are you seeing someone, hyung?!_ ’ and smirks a little bit in at how witty he is.

He’s pretty sure that he’s got Lu Han in a corner until his phone vibrates again and reads Lu Han’s, ‘ _nope but are you seeing sehun-ah?!?!?!_ ’ Jongin’s smirk turns into a frown. Joonmyeon looks over, a little puzzled at what he’s said to make Jongin unhappy.

Jongin doesn’t look at Joonmyeon. He looks at Sehun, who’s staring blankly at Joonmyeon-hyung and quite obviously not paying attention. Jongin doesn’t know if the arrangement they currently have can be called a relationship. Is that what they call it when you grind against someone under the sheets late at night when you think that everyone else in the dorms must be asleep? He doesn’t think that really qualifies as “seeing someone.” He decides on texting Lu Han ‘ _wouldn’t you like to know?_ ’ and turns his phone off, thinking that was that. 

Later, moments after Joonmyeon’s done talking and moments before Lu Han returns to the dorms just in time for dessert, Jongin turns his phone on and checks his texts again. There are two messages. 

He opens Lu Han’s message to find nothing but a winking face and Jongin thinks that it’s unbelievable a person like this could be older than him. 

The other is from Sehun, and reads ‘ _fuck, i’m horny, will joonmyeon hyung ever shut up_ ’ and Jongin has no idea what to think. 

 

 

At that moment, he doesn’t have to think, because Sehun does the thinking for him, as well as the jerking off. After, Sehun sits cocooned in Jongin’s blankets and leans against Jongin’s shoulder, playing Mario Kart on his 3DS even though his breathing still hasn’t evened out and they accidently got semen on the sheets and someone’s going to have to clean it up later. It’ll probably be Jongin. Sehun yells at his character easily, acting as if the fingers he’s using to press ‘a’ and ‘b’ weren’t just wrapped around both their cocks, as if orgasms don’t matter. Jongin supposes they don’t.

“Lu Han hyung said he would treat for a midnight snack later, do you want to come?” Sehun asks after his Yoshi comes in first place again.

“Bubble tea again?” 

Sehun doesn’t look up from the screen as he starts another round. “Yeah, probably.”

Sehun leaves it up to Jongin to clean up the mess. Jongin doesn’t mind, but he’s tired, and his nerves are frayed, he doesn’t know what Lu Han hyung is saying to him, but he knows he wants to keep fucking Sehun even if it’s a secret, and bandmates aren’t supposed to fuck bandmates. He doesn’t think about that. Instead, he drags Chanyeol and Baekhyun with him into their living room to gather around the space heater and makes Chanyeol play all the new R&B songs that he thinks Jongin might like. Jongin hates all of them and likes all of them at the same time. They remind him that he’s in a boy band with eleven other guys and he’s sucking one of their dicks.

Eventually, Baekhyun makes his excuses to shower and sleep and looks pointedly at Chanyeol as a reminder that he needs to sleep too.

“Yeah, I know, I’ll go to bed soon,” Chanyeol confirms, without actually moving. He doesn’t move for a long time, staying with Jongin to sing along to weird English music from America that Jongin doesn’t really quite understand the lyrics to.

“I can’t decide if it’s easier to pick up rap lyrics in English or learning them in Mandarin,” Jongin says.

Chanyeol laughs at him, laughs at the idea that memorizing sounds and tones for rapping could be difficult. Chanyeol is the only real rapper in the entire company; Jongin thinks of course he would find it easy. When Chanyeol caves to fatigue as well, he apologizes to Jongin with his eyes already half closed. He’ll probably forget to brush his teeth and he’ll end up drooling on his pillow and in the morning Baekhyun will be the one who sorts out the crimp in Chanyeol’s neck.

Jongin watches Chanyeol walk away and thinks that Chanyeol is a great friend to him, almost as good as Baekhyun is to Chanyeol. He lays his head down on the sofa, and accidentally falls asleep to the hum of the space heater.

 

In his dreams, he’s in a darkened room and Sehun is walking towards him slowly and deliberately. When he gets close enough to touch, Jongin reaches his hands out, wanting simply to feel and know that Sehun’s existence is real. As soon as his fingertips brush against Sehun’s collarbone, Sehun dissolves into a hundred tiny pale butterflies and he’s left grabbing at nothing but air. The butterflies fly upwards, away from Jongin’s life in a kaleidoscope, and disappear.

When he wakes up, someone’s trying to open the door. He hears Lu Han’s soft voice whispering a goodbye and Sehun appears out of the doorway, padding into the living room.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” Jongin says, lifting his head barely off the cushions. It comes off as a justification, but he doesn’t know why he needs to justify himself and he doesn’t know what he’s justifying.

“The light was still on,” Sehun comments. “Were you waiting up for me?”

“No,” Jongin says truthfully, “or at least, I don’t think so.”

Sehun stares at him with his brows furrowed. Jongin’s learned the hard way that even though he’s the one fucking Sehun, going on one of Lu Han and Sehun’s bubble tea dates always leaves the other party feeling like a third wheel. It feels like that even if all the rest of EXO are there. For some reason, it’s become their thing, and they bond over it in a way that Jongin will never understand. Jongin and Sehun are best friends. Lu Han and Sehun are more like brothers, and in thirty years, Lu Han will still coo at Sehun being an absolute brat and Sehun will still look up to Lu Han in a way no one else comprehends. The closest comparison Jongin can make is Lu Han and Jongin’s friendship, so inexplicably codependent that Jongin has difficulty knowing how to get through days without Lu Han’s stupid emoticons. 

“Get some sleep.”

He can’t really explain it, but he suddenly understands why Baekhyun never mothers other people, but still ends up bossing Chanyeol around anyway. Sehun, predictably, rolls his eyes and walks toward the bathroom, shifting his weight from hip to hip for each step, walking with the same deliberation as the Sehun in Jongin’s dreams, walking with purpose, as if he were a model on a runway. Jongin closes his eyes.

 

  
At their first water break during practice the next day, Jongin rushes to find himself an empty practice studio. He doesn’t bother to shut the door closed behind him and collapses onto the floor, cheek pressed against the cold wood, and muscles releasing just a little bit. He stays there, entire body feeling boneless, and wills himself not to fall asleep.

Without warning, a heavy weight presses down on his back and the entire lower half of his body spasms a little. Jongin’s head shoots up to look in the mirror and sees Lu Han, hands digging into Jongin’s muscles. Jongin throbs with pain and tension. His entire body seems to vibrate with need, with some kind of desire for human touch, Sehun’s touch–.

“Wow, I can’t believe how stiff you are,” Lu Han says while rubbing firm circles against Jongin’s waist. “How are you still moving when all of your muscles are like this?”

Jongin grunts a little, but doesn’t bring himself to comment. The feeling of fingers pressing against all the knots in his back and gently teasing them apart make his legs feel weak. They’re not Sehun’s fingers. He knows that it’s Lu Han hyung giving him a massage but he still moans a little. Lu Han chuckles at him and presses into him harder. Jongin winces, and can’t tell if he’s hurting more or less.

He doesn’t remember how it all built up, but the tension had just gotten worse with each practice and after all the recording sessions that were too many hours long what he really needs right now is for Sehun to comfort him so he can finally relax his shoulders.

“Jongin, lower your shoulders,” their choreographer had nagged throughout the entire practice. He thinks he probably can, now. 

And after a while, he imagines that it’s Sehun, long, thin fingers kneading his back, squeezing the muscles and touching him all over. He thinks about a hundred little butterflies all resting on specific points along his back, pinning him down with enough pressure to relieve all the tight soreness in his muscles. Like little acupuncture needles, draining him of any hurt, miraculously making him feel better, making everything okay. He doesn’t imagine that the butterflies are Sehun, doesn’t imagine, doesn’t, doesn’t, and fortunately, Lu Han’s voice interrupts his thoughts. 

“I just wrapped Yixing up in bandages, so I’m going to give you a compress too. I feel like the company should be doing this, but they probably don’t give a crap unless you collapse on stage or something.”

Jongin nods his agreement, or tries to, but his cheek is still pressed against the ground and he’s not planning on getting up anytime soon. Or at least, not until Lu Han slips an arm under his shoulders and lifts Jongin up off the ground so that Jongin can stand with some assistance. Jongin limps slowly to the door, and bumps into Yixing, who’s coming out of the studio across the hallway. He looks to be in just as much pain and the two of them share a wry smile.

Lu Han helps both of them back to where the larger group overall is working on choreography. They have a few moments to spare so Lu Han goes to grab them water bottles. Sehun is in a corner with Zitao, discussing baseball cap designs off a website they’re looking at from Zitao’s phone. Jongin watches the two of them, lost in their animated discussion, watches while chugging water and wiping off sweat, slowly forgetting that they’re in a dance studio at all. They could be just friends, maybe in a cafe somewhere, or even outside a university, they could be normal. The only care in the world that they have is whether that leopard print will go with anything else, not whether or not they can get through rehearsal unscathed, whether or not someone will fuck up during their next performance, whether they’ll get scolded again. Jongin remembers, then, that it doesn’t matter about the leopard print, because if the company asks you to do something, to wear something, to say something, to _think_ something, you just do it, no questions asked. 

Luckily, he doesn’t have an invested interest in clothing. Jongin doesn’t have an invested interest in anything except dancing really, doesn’t know what’s going on in the fashion world, or in any part of the world, not even the current affairs in his own country. All he understands is dance, and he knows that isn’t normal. He thinks he should at least care more about popular music and actually appreciate what Chanyeol shares with him instead of being so neutral about it all. Really, he just wants to be normal, not imagining Sehun’s hands on him all the time, not thinking about Sehun as some kind of butterfly prince, not being jealous that Sehun has close friends that aren’t Jongin, not having a world that is slowly starting to spin tighter and tighter circles, until it’s revolving around Oh Sehun.

He doesn’t know how he’s gotten here, nor how he’s let it go this far, but now he doesn’t think he can find a way out either. Sehun catches his eye right before they’re about to begin again and smiles the smile with his eyes that takes up his entire face and starts to show him joking childish dance moves. Jongin knows that he should be mimicking those moves but it takes him a while and by the time he’s figured out what he’s supposed to be doing, they’re being called back to attention.

That afternoon, Jongin dances with ferocity and doesn’t notice anyone else in the studio. He doesn’t see them, or hear them. He knows they’re there, peripherally, but there’s something he needs to get out of his system, something that can only be danced out, and he loses himself in the music, gives every single position and movement his maximum effort, throws himself into it.

By the end, of course, he’s completely burnt out.

Jongin tries to catch his breath. He stands up only to bed over again and touch his toes. He stretches his entire body, glutes, calves, hamstrings, back, arms, and waist. When he’s done he reaches up towards the sky and smiles a little. He thinks he feels better.

The choreographer shakes their head and claps Jongin on the shoulder.

“If you try to dance away all of your problems kid, you’ll soon find that dance is your problem.”

“I’m pretty sure it already is,” Jongin replies, grinning.

When they get back to the dorms later, Lu Han inspects Jongin’s lower back and waist again.

“It’s not that you’re uninjured,” Lu Han begins slowly, “but it seems that my massages work?”

Jongin smiles at him. “I feel so much better. You just keep on believing that you’re the solution to all my problems, hyung. Just keep thinking that. It’ll be easier for you, right?”

Yixing hasn’t shown any signs of improvement.

“What the fuck, Jongin, are you normal?” Lu Han wonders with his hands on his hips.

Jongin shakes his head, laughing.

“I don’t know how you got better so quickly, but I still think you should take it easy for a little while, alright? Don’t want you getting any stress fractures or sprains right now, right before we debut. If you dance any more, I think you’ll be aggravating the issue. It’s not like being an idol doesn’t already take a physical toll–.”

“No,” Jongin interrupts Lu Han and clarifies for the second time that day. “Whenever there’s something wrong with me, I just need to dance more. And then I’ll be okay.”

Jongin doesn’t look at Sehun, and he doesn’t think about the butterflies. At least physical ailments have tangible fixes.

 

  
Jongin is nineteen. One day, Jongin wakes up and sees Sehun curled up into a ball beside him. The sun has not yet risen. It’s four in the morning when Kim Jongin closes his eyes and sleepily thinks, _fuck, I’m in love with my best friend_.

Jongin takes a deep breath. He had always thought that the world would sit at a standstill when he fell in love. He thought everything around him would halt. It didn’t. Nothing changes. The world goes on. Kyungsoo gets up and asks him why he is sitting at the dining table and not eating. Jongin eats. Sehun goes on. Sehun wakes up second last and drinks milk while Jongin cleans up his own dishes. And Jongin goes on too. He looks at Sehun and thinks that Sehun is not in love, Sehun is in like with having Jongin’s dick buried in him. He promises himself that he won’t share this bit of information with anyone, not even Lu Han hyung.

A light flashes in his face. Jongin blinks and Lu Han smiles at him, camera in hand.

“Good morning, Jongin,” his voice is cheery.

Jongin mumbles, “Good morning,” and doesn’t let a note of his recent revelation slip through. He thinks.

He stares at the photo developing in Lu Han’s hands, drying to reveal Jongin’s rather sleepy face in a lazy sort of smile. Lu Han pulls a marker out of nowhere and writes the date on the bottom, as well as Jongin’s name in neat Hangul.

“Are you going to be forgetting my face sometime soon?” He jokes.

“I just don’t want to ever forget this moment!” Lu Han is entirely too cheery this morning for his own good. 

Jongin freezes up a little, and tries to reassure himself that Lu Han can’t read minds, that Sehun’s not going to look at him tomorrow and tell him that he’s not interested in commitment or fucking a bandmate forever. He takes a deep breath and doesn’t look at the picture of himself. Doesn’t look at Sehun. He looks Lu Han in the eye and rolls his eyes exaggeratedly.

“I can see it now hyung, when you’re old and reminiscing about this fifty years from now, you’ll pull that picture out and remark on that young man with the handsome face.”

“In your dreams. You’ll be wishing that you had taken more pictures to remember my beauty instead.”

“Both of you are wrong,” Sehun says, slinging an arm around each of their necks, “It’ll be my cute and adorable face that you’ll both be missing.” He sticks out his tongue.

Jongin laughs. Not at Sehun’s audacity, but at the three of them, standing there with dark and heavy eye bags, each of them looking like absolute shit from exhaustion, and finding it in them to joke about their beauty. Jongin’s looked in a mirror recently, he knows that his cheeks are sunken and his skin is breaking out and he looks like death warmed over. He knows that Sehun probably looks the same, worn out and chronically fatigued, but he also knows that he finds Sehun incredibly endearing. 

He buries his face in Sehun’s shoulder and groans. Lu Han pats him on the back.

“It’s okay that you find our terrible humour funny. It makes sense because none of your jokes are funny anyway.”

Jongin swats at Lu Han half-heartedly, and thinks that this whole knowing that he’s in love thing is going to be a lot harder than he thought.

 

  
Jongin hates car rides. He spends the entire time with his thigh pressing against Sehun’s. Sehun is looking straight ahead with his eyelids heavy, trying not to fall asleep. Jongin is steadfastly looking anywhere but at Sehun, thinking about anything except the warmth of where their bodies are touching. He suddenly feels claustrophobic, and it’s like he can’t breathe.

He doesn’t think it should be like this, can’t imagine that he would be sitting in a car, staring out at a window, so terrifyingly conscious of Sehun in the space beside him. This isn’t what love was supposed to be like. He tries not to react when Sehun’s head hits his shoulder, acts completely normal as his best friend naps on him. This is normal, this is how they act all the time, touching and being in each other’s spaces. This isn’t normal.

Baekhyun and Chanyeol are in front of them, having what appears to be a competition to determine which of them sounds more like that strange bird creature in the movie _Up_. Jongin thinks Chanyeol is winning until Baekhyun lets out a cawing noise that shouldn’t be humanly possible. Chanyeol can’t stop shrieking with laughter, and won’t stop clapping his hands.

“I win right?” Baekhyun asks, doing a little celebratory dance in his seat.

“Only if being able to sound like Kevin can really be considered winning.”

So that’s what the bird’s name was.

“Face it, Park Chanyeol, you’ll never beat me at imitating strange things.”

“Whatever, you’re never going to be able to rap like I can.”

“Are we really going to do this, because I can think of a hundred songs you could never sing–”

“Please don’t do this,” Jongin begs, turning to Kyungsoo and Joonmyeon for support. Kyungsoo is dozing against the window, mouth slightly open and cheek squished against the glass. His ears are sticking out again. Joonmyeon is listening to something through his earphones and doesn’t look up from whatever he’s reading. There’s no one to save him now.

“Chanyeol’s not going to do anything because he knows he’s going to lose, no matter what,” Baekhyun taunts.

Chanyeol, in a perfect imitation of a three year old, flicks Baekhyun in the head and sticks his tongue out at him. He starts to sing “Hero, hero, hero, hero, hero, hero, hero, I’m a hero,” loudly in a low voice and Baekhyun thankfully rushes to put a hand over his mouth.

“No, stop it, every time we do this you’re always pretending to be Simon D and that’s so boring.”

Jongin internally gloats because Chanyeol’s voice is muffled, but nothing actually stops Chanyeol from trying to make himself heard. He croons and hums despite Baekhyun’s attempts to silence him and Jongin only stops himself from strangling Chanyeol because he doesn’t want to wake Sehun.

“Can you stop?” Baekhyun says, a little out of breath, “It’s like six in the morning, I’m not awake enough for this!”

Chanyeol momentarily pauses.

“Wait, ew, what the fuck, did you just lick me?” Baekhyun removes his hand from Chanyeol’s face as quickly as possible and wipes saliva on Chanyeol’s jeans.

Jongin gives both of them a look of disgust. Baekhyun is now reenacting a scene from _The Simpsons_ and Chanyeol is interjecting his best Bart voice at appropriate intervals. He turns away from them and stares at Sehun’s reflection in the window. Jongin hates car rides.

 

When they finally arrive at the airport, Jongin is already exhausted from having to listen to bickering the entire car ride there. Fans shrieking into his ears are the last things he wants to deal with. He spots them even before they’ve driven up to the drop-off area, the gaggle of them, anxiously peering at them, on the lookout. He tries to steel himself as they approach. He thought Chanyeol was being loud, but he knows that one person singing is nothing compared to what he’s about to hear when he steps out of the car.

Jongin nudges Sehun awake as gently as he can. Sehun comes to slowly, and makes an irritated face. 

“You move a lot when you’re sitting in a car, you know?” Sehun complains. 

“Next time, you don’t have to lean against me,” Jongin retorts.

By the time Sehun’s realized where they are, Joonmyeon is already stepping outside, and Sehun groans into Jongin, who unbuckles their seatbelts and grabs their bags quickly. He hands Sehun’s to him without a word and grimaces as he’s greeted by loud screaming when gets off the car. He doesn’t look at any of the girls standing there, only looks up behind him to make sure that Sehun is following. The entire walk to the check-in terminal, he keeps his head down and carefully avoids bumping into anyone. They shove things at him, posters, gifts, and pictures they want him to see. He’s a little overwhelmed by cameras flashing from every angle, and wonders how they can be so energetic this early in the morning.

Even as EXO and their staff are lining up, he hears occasional bursts of shouting. It’s really too early for this. He’s barely awake, and is only standing at all because of an extra cup of coffee. Shoulders hunched, he knows that he’s radiating grumpiness and wonders why that in itself doesn’t deter the insistent cheering and constant attempts by the fans to get a raise out of him by yelling his name as loudly as they can.

“You’ve got my attention, why can’t you just keep quiet?” He mumbles through gritted teeth.

Joonmyeon whacks him in the back of his head and chastises him. “Be nice. Smile at them or something. Fanservice, remember?” 

Sehun snickers at him before going off to find Zitao so he can point out one of the funnier signs even though Zitao probably won’t understand what it means. 

Jongin sighs. He’s sleepy, and he’s annoyed, and he doesn't want to give fanservice. It’s easier just to lean against Lu Han and close his eyes for a bit. Lu Han doesn’t flinch, just accepts Jongin into his space and continues talking to Minseok.

“They’re such a good team,” Lu Han complains, “But they just can’t finish strong in games. I can’t tell you how frustrating their complacency issues are to me, much less how much it must suck for them.”

“Half of them are on Bayern, and Bayern doesn’t have nearly the same difficulty with holding on,” Minseok is insisting, “They just don’t practice enough together.”

“So help me god if one more person tells me that their greatest weakness is their defense, I will eat that someone’s face.”

Minseok nods in agreement before saying, “Hey, wait, not mine right?”

Lu Han ignores this comment. “If one more person hounds Lahm or Mertesacker…” He looks murderous, and it’s probably not a look the fans should see.

“And England? Portugal? Their chances?” Minseok tries weakly, in a hurried attempt to steer the topic away from a more dangerously disposed Lu Han.

“Don’t talk to me about either of them. Just don’t. I don’t want to think about it.”

“Spain,” Jongin whispers into Lu Han’s ear, to some fan’s delight. 

Lu Han shifts away from Jongin and frowns. “Brazil’s probably going to win the cup, or something,” he says loudly, “Even though I don’t like it. If it’s a European team, it will definitely be Germany.” 

Jongin laughs. He thinks about Ramos, Xavi, Villa, Casillas, Iniesta, and _Torres_ , and knows that the Spanish team is the favourite to win the 2014 World Cup, even if only South American teams have so far ever won the cup in South America.

This is easy, this leaning against others and just talking to them kind of fanservice. It keeps Jongin’s mind away from the fans and the camaraderie is comforting. He watches as Zitao and Sehun tease each other, poking and prodding and laughing. The kinds of friendships they’ve built with each other have become a form of fanservice too.

 

After getting through security and arriving at the gates, Jongin finally gets the chance to sit down and slump in his seat. It’s only been a couple hours since he woke up in the morning, but he feels like an entire day has already passed. He settles his backpack beside his feet and fishes out an iPod from within. He’s plugging in the earphones when Sehun settles down beside him. Jongin slides an earbud in place and offers the other one to Sehun, who takes it without looking.

They sit, side-by-side, silent until their flight is called. Sehun makes him laugh at all the right times, and they swap saliva almost as frequently as they swap silly stories with each other. In the end it’s in moments like this one, when they aren’t even looking at each other but simply enjoying each other’s presence, that Jongin feels most at ease. It reminds him that it doesn’t matter what language they speak, that they don’t need hand gestures or even physical touch to know how the other is feeling.

“Let’s go,” Sehun says, and drags Jongin up out of his seat like Jongin had dragged Sehun off the car earlier that day.

“Better take one last deep breath before we’re in the hazy air of Beijing again.”

“I like Beijing.”

“Whatever.”

They walk in step with each other to the queue, passports and boarding passes in hand. The music that they’re sharing pulses between them and for the first time since they first began travelling out of Korea for performances, Jongin doesn’t feel like he’s flying away from home. 

 

  
The first thing Jongin does when they arrive at the hotel is to find a space where he can practice. He hates leaving Korea because he doesn’t have a rehearsal studio. He hates flights even more than he hates sitting in a car because the time spent in a cramped space is even longer and he can never feel his legs when he gets up. It's a very painful kind of numbness, and in order to stretch out all his limbs, he always ends up on the roof or some equally bizarre place just so he can get blood flowing in his veins again. He knows that at least twelve fans had followed them into the building, and probably three have the guts to take the elevator up with them. Someone's going to end up blogging about how disrespectful it is, and someone else will have to post a warm note about how much everyone in EXO loves their fans. It's almost become routine, and Jongin needs to get away from it.

As soon as the elevator announces their arrival in recreation floor, Jongin finds himself amongst a whole lot of unused gym equipment and a whole lack of people. He turns up the volume on his iPod, shoves it into the pocket of his hoodie, and lets himself go. He's stiff and sore and cold, and his neck is still in pain from when he fell asleep awkwardly pressed against the window, but it feels good just to not be sitting still. The others are probably napping, unpacking, or doing some kind of relaxing activity like normal individuals. They have a schedule in the afternoon, and everyone's still tired from the plane ride. In a sense, it's better that Jongin's up here dancing, so that he doesn't end up falling asleep again and finding it impossible to wake up.

There's a lot of choreography in Jongin's body. Preprogrammed to each song that he's learned, things that he's picked up from Taemin, or pieces of choreography that he's had to memorize for the dozen EXO teasers that he danced for. It's all in there, along with anything that dance teachers and professional instructors had shown him over the years. And he pulls out whatever he can think of now, to music that he wishes he could dance to regularly, pushing himself to sweat and feel alive. He doesn't stop until a stunned couple comes across him midway through twisting his torso. He hurriedly stops and bows to them, rushing off so that they can sit and enjoy the pool. They probably think he's crazy, or something, and definitely don't recognize him as a Korean pop idol. 

He takes the stairs back down, since his body is still charged with adrenaline and he feels like he could move perpetually. Back in his hotel room, Sehun is watching weird cartoon shows playing in Chinese that he definitely doesn't understand and Zitao is eating ice cream while telling Sehun a story. Sehun probably doesn't understand what Zitao's saying to him either. If there’s anyone who’s been lazier about keeping up with their Mandarin homework than Jongin, it’s Sehun.

Jongin slips into the shower and washes the sweat off his skin. This is perhaps the most enjoyable and least enjoyable part about being in China. He always feels slightly sticky, like there’s a layer of something covering him that he can’t wash off. No matter how hard he scrubs, it stays there. But whenever he’s in the bathroom, all the freebies that come with the hotel room are a blessing. The warm water rolls off his back and the scent of the shampoo and conditioner is nicer than the ones he uses at home, even if they're probably of poorer quality. When he turns off the water, the TV is still playing and he can hear Sehun giggling. Jongin dries himself quickly and wraps a fluffy hotel bathrobe around himself before joining the other two in front of the television.

 

Closer to the time that they have to leave, Zitao slips out to go back to his own room, and Jongin thinks he should probably put on some actual clothes, reluctant as he is to change out of the comfortable robe. Sehun doesn't take his eyes off of what he's watching, immersed in identifying the one or two words in Mandarin that he actually knows and laughing at the misery of the main character. Jongin doesn't even bother pretending he can follow what's going on, even though the plot doesn't seem to be all that intensive. China makes him feel all out of sorts, because everything that seems like it could be familiar isn't quite.

Even talking to the other members is a little strange. Lu Han slips into Mandarin quickly, just because he sees all the signs are in Chinese, and even though he only speaks in Korean to Jongin, it seems weird hearing Lu Han's native tongue at any other point in time. It makes him just confused enough that he doesn't feel comfortable in his own skin, but it's not strange enough that he can numb himself against it. It's probably a sign that he should be paying more attention in their Mandarin tutoring classes, and stop playing video games when he should be revising for pronunciation and vocabulary, but he knows that the Korean members in Super Junior-M all got by with only a few phrases. Besides, dancing's supposed to be a universal language that transcends whatever dialect it is that their fans are speaking, or whatever.

For the entire time that they're at the photo shoot, there are two sets of orders that are called out. The actual photographer keeps yelling things in simple Mandarin, and it's clear that only two or three of the Korean members understand what he's saying. The second set of instructions is coming from a translator, and Jongin wonders if they've ever tried yelling something wrong or the opposite of what was wanted just to see the chaos that would erupt. He would have a lot of fun playing around like that, but it would probably get someone fired.

In the interview that follows, only Wu Fan, Lu Han, Yixing, Zitao, Joonmyeon, Jongdae, and Minseok actually answer questions. The other five of them sit around, nodding at appropriate intervals, and trying not to look like they have no idea what's going on. Jongin has not a single clue what they're saying, or what they're being asked. Even with the translator, there's too much that he doesn't understand for him to keep trying to pay attention. He's not as diligent as Joonmyeon when it comes to being involved in the conversation, and he knows that even Chanyeol and Baekhyun, who usually both have a lot to say, have lost the trail of the discussion a long time ago.

When someone announces that they’re finished, Jongin feels relieved. They bow to all the staff working there, and smile whenever someone smiles at them. He'll probably be scolded later, for not even trying to say something simple, even though Lu Han had been training him to say cheesy things like “I love my fans” and “You are so beautiful” for days in advance. He’s too tired to care, much too interested in getting back to their hotel to finally go to sleep. 

As usual, there are screaming fans in the lobby of the hotel when they arrive. He doesn't know how they keep doing it, finding them wherever they go, and then sharing their information with all their friends. They might as well be screaming their location out to the entire world. Jongin almost wonders why EXO even bothers trying to avoid them anymore; it seems like an impossible task. No matter where they go, day or night, someone will inevitably spot them and in the ensuing chaos, an EXO member will always either get hurt or really pissed off. It's a miracle that he can walk through the crowd of them at all, and an even bigger miracle that he doesn't get stuck on the elevator with any of them on the way up. He imagines that's probably the most awkward situation that any idol can be put in, and thinks that it's strange the fans don't find it awkward too.

Sehun takes another twenty minutes to get up to their shared room.

“I’m alive,” he announces dramatically after opening the door. 

“Did you get caught by one of them or something?”

“They just refuse to get out of your hair,” Sehun says, fluffing his own hair.

“What happened?”

“Had to take a back entrance. There was no way anyone in our van was going to get through the crowd. I have no idea how the lot of you got up here unscathed,” Sehun complains. He sighs exaggeratedly.

Jongin snorts a little. Unscathed today, but there's no telling what would happen tomorrow. There's anxiety in him whenever they have to go out in public these days, and he should be used to it by now, but he's not.

Sehun lets Jongin use the bathroom first. Jongin brushes his teeth and washes all of the make up off his face as quickly as he can so Sehun can get to shower. He collapses onto his bed gracelessly and removes all of his clothes except for his boxers before slipping under the covers. With the bed lamp still on, he ends up reading a volume of manhwa as Sehun goes through his own bedtime routine. When Sehun gets out of the shower, he doesn't even pretend to go on his bed. He dries off his hair and throws his towel into a hamper before diving in beside Jongin.

“Read to me.”

“It's a comic, Sehun, it’s not exactly like a bedtime story that you can read to small children. Half of what's going on is explained in pictures.”

Sehun laughs. “Alright, let me read too.”

Jongin can never refuse Sehun whenever he asks for something.

When they're finished the book, it's a little past midnight and Jongin wants nothing more than to sleep. He's about to turn off the light when Sehun whispers into his ear, “Jonginnie.”

Jongin shivers. He's tired but –.

Sehun is insistent. Neither of them is wearing very much anyway, and he doesn't resist when Sehun kisses him.

“Fuck,” Jongin whispers.

“Fuck,” Sehun agrees, “I've wanted your dick in my mouth since you put that suit on.”

Jongin can't breathe. He takes a moment to slide his tongue along Sehun's bottom lip and ends up getting pushed down into the mattress as Sehun rolls over on top of him. He's tired, but it's been a while since he's had any release. He's tired, but Sehun is sucking on his tongue. He's tired, but he wants this, badly. He's tired, but he remembers that earlier today he realized he was in love with his best friend and he hopes that Sehun doesn't realize anything's changed when he presses his tongue against the roof of Sehun’s mouth, exploring everywhere, and claiming Sehun’s tongue for his own. 

Sehun's fingers slide down his chest and Jongin moans.

“Shh, we don't want Lu Han hyung hearing and then making fun of us in the morning, do we?”

Sehun pinches one of Jongin's nipples with his thumb and index finger and gently sucks on the other. Jongin slips a hand in between Sehun's legs, cups his balls and squeezes at his cock. He releases his hands in order to position Sehun's hips just so, aligning the two of them so that their dicks slide against each other, forcing Sehun to stop what he’s doing and catch his breath. Jongin trails open mouthed kisses along Sehun’s jaw and doesn't stop rubbing against him, cocks brushing against each other through the fabric of their boxers.

“Stop, fuck, if you keep doing this, I'm going to come,” Sehun says, all the while humping Jongin rather willingly.

“Isn't that the point?” Jongin asks, increasing the friction between them and wrapping a leg around Sehun’s waist.

Sehun responds by shifting his body weight back on his knees and gripping the waistband of Jongin's boxers to remove them. He takes off his own and slides further down the bed so that he can position his head at Jongin's pelvis. He runs a hand along the length of Jongin's cock and Jongin strains against his fingers, hips arching upward and head leaning back into the pillow. He growls. 

“Awake now? You've been sleepy all day.”

Jongin can't respond any more than by gasping out Sehun's name. Sehun darts his tongue out to wet his lips, and touches the tip of Jongin's cock with his mouth. Jongin's breathing is heavy as Sehun licks and sucks slowly and deliberately. It's enough that Jongin desperately wants release, but not enough that Jongin can actually find it. Sehun takes Jongin’s entire dick into his mouth and hums. Jongin closes his eyes and summons all of his self-control to prevent himself from screaming. With one hand he threads fingers in Sehun's hair, with the other, he runs fingers along Sehun’s cock. Sehun's mouth is hot and wet and feels incredible against his skin. Sehun licks a stripe from the base of Jongin's cock to the tip and Jongin has to pull away.

“Here,” Jongin manages breathily, “Come and turn your body over here.”

Sehun obliges, lies so that Jongin has access to his cock without taking his mouth off of Jongin’s. Jongin takes Sehun in his hand, strokes slowly and then takes him in his mouth. Sehun makes a spluttering sound around Jongin's dick. Jongin keeps his lips around him, lets Sehun thrust into his mouth over and over, all while still sucking Jongin’s dick. Jongin repays the service, flattens his tongue and licks. He fists Sehun with his hand and circles the tip of Sehun’s cock with his tongue, rubs his lips against it and kisses his way down to Sehun’s balls. He takes all of Sehun’s dick into his mouth again, and tries not to gag when he feels Sehun in the back of his throat. It isn’t textbook, but it’s instinctive and it’s the only thing Jongin knows. The pooling sensation in the pit of his stomach builds; he’s almost there and then Sehun’s coming into his mouth. Sehun throws his head back and gasps when he comes, and Jongin is coming too, all over Sehun’s face.

“You fucker,” Sehun complains as he tries to clean himself up with tissues.

“Not my fault. Could’ve been coming down your throat but you had all of the poor sense to stop sucking before I was done,” Jongin sniffs. 

“Still a fucker.”

“Here,” Jongin offers, and ends up washing Sehun’s face for him.

They sleep in the same bed, Sehun curled into Jongin. Jongin’s smiling as he closes his eyes, and just before he falls asleep, he thinks _I love you_. He sleeps soundly that night, and forgets the fact that he’s in an unfamiliar country and in an unfamiliar bed. The body that’s warm and beside him is as familiar as it gets. 

 

 

Jongin sleeps so well that he almost misses his alarm. Rather than waking up before everyone else, by the time Jongin opens his eyes, Sehun is already dressed and heading downstairs. Jongin doesn’t get to the breakfast lounge until almost everyone else is gathered in small groups around tables. There’s an entire breakfast buffet laid out with a variety of cuisines but Jongin has little appetite. He waits in line to pick up a mug of coffee and holds it gingerly as he walks over to a table and tries not to spill any of it. He sits down beside Sehun just in time to hear Lu Han saying something.

“Sehun-ah, were you sleepwalking last night? Did you walk into a closet or something, is there a reason why there’s bruising down your jaw–”

Lu Han pauses for a moment and peers closely at Jongin’s face, eyes lidded and mostly asleep.

“Oh. I see.”

Jongin yawns and doesn’t process what’s going on. He takes a sip of his drink and sets it down before trying to rub the sleepiness out of his eyes. He feels more well rested in comparison to usual, but that really means nothing in the grand scheme of things, considering that his average hours of sleep a night hovers around three. He downs the coffee even though it’s scalding and doesn’t feel awake until he’s drunk the last drop.

When he opens his eyes clearly, Lu Han is glancing back and forth between Jongin and Sehun with a smirk plastered across his face. 

“You know the make up staff are going to be teasing you about hickeys for weeks right?”

Jongin blinks a few times before feeling himself blush.

“Aw, look Jonginnie’s turning red. It’s okay Jongin-ah, I would know. Hyung knows that in the prime of your youth, one tends to have these manly urges, and Sehun-ah’s so adorable it must be hard to resist.”

“Shut. Up,” Jongin glares at Lu Han with as much anger as he can muster, which isn’t very much at all because he feels relaxed. He frowns at himself and tries to glare again. “Fuck your manliness and manly urges.”

Lu Han just smiles at him some more. The more Lu Han smiles at him, and the wider Lu Han’s smile becomes, the more embarrassed Jongin feels.

“Jongin-ah, don’t worry, even though you just look like an adorable puppy right now, you’re definitely manly in my books.”

Jongin tries for another glare, but jumps in his seat when Zitao sets his breakfast down at their table too, a plate of grapefruit pieces and a huge glass of water. His luck’s always been shitty. 

“Why are we affirming Jongin’s masculinity?” Zitao asks, before placing a piece of fruit into his mouth. He looks at Jongin with judging eyes, as if determining if he’s wearing something wrong. Jongin slides further down into his seat and tries not to be offended.

“Jongin’s just embarrassed,” Lu Han exclaims, “It’s nothing to be worried about!”

“What is he so embarrassed about this time? Did another fan catch him making cute faces at himself in the mirror or something?”

Lu Han tilts his head in Sehun’s direction just as Sehun sleepily asks, “What do you mean another fan caught him making faces? He’s done that more than once?”

Zitao ignores Sehun’s comment and laughs. “Our babies are growing up so fast. Don’t forget to use protection now.”

“Oh my god,” Jongin says, covering his face with his hand. Lu Han coos at him.

Sehun snorts. “Hyung, it’s not like you haven’t known that we’ve been fucking for months now.”

“Yeah, but usually you’re not so obvious. Also, usually we don’t have breakfast together like this where I get to make you feel awkward.” Zitao is absolutely gleeful as he eats. The smirk doesn’t leave his face even as he chews.

Lu Han pipes in with, “I’m getting old, Sehun-ah, let the hyungs have their fun, alright? You two are so cute!” He pulls out his Instax Mini.

Sehun rolls his eyes and seems completely undisturbed as he continues eating his piece of French toast. “Bbuing bbuing,” he says without opening his eyelids fully.

Jongin bangs his head into the table and refuses to look up. “This is the worst. This is the absolute worst. And to think we even tried to keep it down. I mean. Shit.”

“Oh, so that’s what the moaning sounds coming from your room were!”

“Huang Zitao, I’m going to punch you in the face.”

Just as Jongin lifts his head to glare threateningly in Zitao’s direction, Lu Han hits the shutter button and snaps a shot. He pulls out the film the camera spits out and leaves it in his lap to dry. When the image clears, he holds it just out of Jongin’s reach to show them the rather unattractive photo of Jongin glaring and Sehun looking at his breakfast with absolutely no interest. Jongin pouts, and when Lu Han doesn’t hand the picture over, he glares at everyone at the table. 

After breakfast, they’re supposed to head to the performance venue. Their managers make them rush in an attempt to get them out of the building before even more fans arrive and get in the way of the exit. Jongin already notices some taxis idling around, and the horde of fans never seems to disappear, even if the people in the group change. Already, the hotel staff members are sick of their constant presence and have yelled at them more than once for blocking up the entrance. Jongin feels sorry for them, but not as sorry as he feels for EXO themselves, who have to get through the group just to get out of the building. 

One of their managers approaches them and carefully whispers, “We’ll probably have to take the back entrance. You’ll try to get out there in groups of twos or threes so that they don’t take notice. Even still, there might be fans back there already, so be careful.” 

Jongin rolls his eyes and tries to keep up behind Lu Han as closely as possible when they get up. Sehun seems to be falling asleep again, and leans on Lu Han’s shoulder the entire time that they’re walking. Jongin tries to keep his head down and hides behind Zitao. As they’re waiting for the vans to pull up in the back, a swallowtail lands on Sehun’s shoulder. Jongin blinks at it while Zitao coos and hurries to take a picture with his phone. 

“What are you two doing?” Lu Han asks.

“Oh my god, just look at it, it’s a butterfly!” 

Lu Han joins Zitao in the cooing and Jongin laughs. 

“What the fuck guys, you’re three fully grown adults star struck by an over-glorified caterpillar,” Sehun complains, but he remains still so that it doesn’t move away. 

Zitao is about to defend the butterfly when a group of fans spot them and shriek. It flies away while they dash towards them and Jongin becomes incredibly put out, both by the presence of fans, as well as the fact that the butterfly was scared away. He jumps behind Lu Han so that they can’t see him, and can’t be grateful enough when the van pulls up. 

Lu Han gets on first, and Jongin is about to step on when he turns to look at Sehun, who looks like he can barely stand up from being so tired. 

He thinks back to the ride to the airport and asks, “Did you want to sit next to Lu Han hyung? So you can sleep, since I move around too much and all?” 

Sehun shakes his head and stifles a yawn. “It’s alright, I’ll just lean against the window.”

Jongin shrugs and sits down beside Lu Han. As Sehun buckles himself in, he tries to stifle another yawn.

“You know you didn’t actually move around a lot right? I don’t really mind, anyway,” He says, before closing his eyes and putting his head on Jongin’s shoulder again. 

Jongin leans his head back against Sehun’s and smiles. 

Zitao pokes Jongin in the head from behind them and makes hearts with his hands when Jongin finally bothers to turn around and glare at him. Zitao giggles and feigns innocence, but does it again as soon as Jongin turns his head back. He ignores him this time, and turns to elbow Lu Han.

“Share your music.”

Lu Han takes out an earbud and holds it out to Jongin, scrolling for a song that they both know. Jongin’s about to put the earbud in his ear when he hears the sudden skidding of brakes. The earbud falls out of his hand when their car swerves sharply to the right. Someone screams and then another car is slamming into their van right where–.

He hears it after it happens, a crunch of metal, shattering glass, bones breaking. He doesn’t feel anything until after he hears it, and pain shoots up his entire right arm where he’s instinctively reached out to wrap it around Sehun. He can feel Lu Han touching him, trying to figure out if he’s okay and then he blacks out. 

The sounds of sirens wake him up and his first thought is _fuck, I hate car rides_. His second is _fuck_ ,

“Sehun-ah? Where’s Sehun?” 

He tries to get up but he can’t, he feels like his world is spinning, his eyes are closing, _where the fuck is Sehun_ , and he feels someone’s hand squeezing his, _is it Sehun’s it better fucking be Sehun’s_ and he loses consciousness again.

 

 

A day passes, and then another. When Jongin wakes up, there's a doctor in his room. He opens his eyes and sees an unfamiliar white paneled ceiling. It blurs a little, and he closes his eyes again. Unfamiliar rooms aren't uncommon in his life. Suddenly, to his right, he hears someone speaking to him in Mandarin. He doesn't know what they're saying to him. He turns his head towards the voice and opens his eyes to see the doctor, gently repeating his question. 

Jongin blinks and tries to bolt up in his bed. He struggles to sit up and begins processing his surroundings. IV drips, a cast on his arm, a man in scrubs with a stethoscope in his room, and suddenly Jongin is screaming. Nothing comes out, his throat is dry and his silent screaming hurts. It sets off a sharp pain in his head and he has to close his eyes again. That's when the memories hit him, the image of sitting inside a destroyed car, the noises, the sirens, being in an ambulance, but he can't remember any details of what happened. 

“Sehun?” He manages to croak out, “Sehun-ah? Where's Sehun, is he alright?”

He turns towards the doctor, who gets up to find a manager who can communicate with Jongin, or a translator, since he can't understand Korean. Jongin grabs the doctor by the wrist, winces in pain as his shoulder feels like it's being torn off just from a small stretch, and shakes him.

“Do you know where Oh Sehun is?” Jongin asks desperately, and the doctor shakes his head, not a 'no' but to try to tell Jongin he can't understand him. Jongin takes it to mean that the doctor doesn’t know where Sehun is, and it makes him more agitated. 

Jongin drops his hand and closes his eyes. He counts to five in his head and takes a deep breath. After he exhales, he slumps back against his bed, head hitting the pillow rather painfully. When he opens his eyes again, one of their managers is following the doctor back into his room. He begins calling out to her but she speaks first.

“Can you tell us your name?”

“Of course I can,” Jongin says irately, and pulls himself up to a sitting position again. “Kim Jongin, I–.”

He's cut off a second time by her gentle but firm voice. “Do you remember what happened, Jongin-ah?”

“What happened? We were in the van, and someone crashed into us,” He says and remembers his original plight, the question he was trying to ask before he was interrupted. “Sehun, Sehun was beside me in the van, that's where the other car crashed into us. Where's Sehun, Sehun, where is he? Is he alright?” 

“Calm down, Jongin, I have to ask these questions because the doctors need to make sure you're alright.”

“I'm perfectly fine, as you can see! But just tell me, Sehun, he's okay isn't he? And the others, everyone else in the car, they're okay too?” Jongin's words begin to slur together, and his head starts to throb with pain. 

“Sehun's in traction right now, he's been there overnight. The others in the car sustained minor injuries, but will all be released from hospital today or tomorrow. The doctors want to run some tests before they let you go. There will be one of us around, or one of the other members. They've all been sleeping at the hospital. It's a mess outside, the fans, the company...” She looks at him and rethinks her speech. “Never mind. You just focus on getting better, and things will work out from here.”

“I'm fine,” Jongin says again, “There's nothing wrong with me, let me leave so I can go see him!” He can’t stop himself when his head hits the pillow again because he can't fight the pain that's building. 

“Jongin-ah!” She says sharply, and the doctor's hands are against his neck, feeling his head. 

“It..hurts...” Jongin supplies weakly, and his world blacks out again. 

 

The next time Jongin opens his eyes again, he can't feel his hand. At first, he's terrified that it's been injured so badly that they had to amputate it, but when he looks down, he realizes that it's just numb because Chanyeol's gripping it too hard, and has fallen asleep with his head squashing Jongin's arm into the mattress. It makes him titter a little at being so jumpy and quick to judge things for the worst. He takes a deep breath, feeling lucky that he’s alive. Jongin then uses his elbow to nudge Chanyeol and shakes his arm so as to wake up him from his slumber.

“Fuck, what time is it? Oh, you're awake?” Chanyeol says groggily, one eye open and focused on Jongin's face, the other still closed. 

Jongin looks at him and sees the eye bags, swollen, dark, and the paleness and discolouration that mar Chanyeol's cheeks. He can't have been getting much sleep recently. It makes Jongin wonder what he himself looks like, always passed out but never eating actual food. 

“I'm awake,” Jongin whispers, afraid to raise his voice any higher. 

Chanyeol releases Jongin's hand from his grip and rubs his face. He wipes his eyes and blinks a few times before yawning. 

“Chanyeol,” Jongin starts, and Chanyeol’s face gathers sharply, as if he expects Jongin to tell him that he thinks he's dying and needs a doctor right this instant. “Look at me,” he says. Chanyeol does. He looks Jongin in the eye with the most worried expression that Jongin's ever seen. 

“Please,” Jongin says, “Tell me what the fuck happened.”

They maintain eye contact and Chanyeol opens and closes his mouth once before sighing and nodding his head. He looks down at Jongin's arm, the one in a cast, and frowns a little before beginning to speak.

The first part of the story is nothing new to Jongin. He had worked out the series of events that had unfolded days earlier fairly quickly, being able to remember the moments leading up to the crash rather clearly in his mind. The taxi in front of them had braked unexpectedly as a result of noticing a nearby passenger. The driver of EXO's van had swerved quickly in an attempt to avoid crashing into them. He had clipped the car in front of them anyway, but no one had been hurt at that point in time. The problem had happened afterward, when the driver of the SUV behind them, in the middle of a business call on his cell phone, couldn't brake in time and smashed into the middle of the passenger side of EXO's van. 

Chanyeol looks up after he's finished this part of the story, voice surprisingly tender and quiet. Jongin's staring at him intently. 

“Some pedestrian called an ambulance, but we were ahead of you guys so we didn't even know that anything had happened until we were several traffic lights ahead and the manager in your van called the manager in ours. We weren't told what happened, only the driver had pulled us over and we were told to stay put and then all the staff seemed to disappear. The six of us inside kept wondering what was going on, and Joonmyeon called Wu Fan, who didn't pick up, and then we were really worried. Joonmyeon-hyung looked like he was going to leap out of the van and strangle one of the staff for information, and I've never seen Baekhyun bite his fingernails, but I'm pretty sure that's what he was doing and, sorry, I'm rambling,” Chanyeol says and then sighs. 

“Well, it turned out that the van had basically ploughed into you guys, and then when we finally found out what was going on, we headed to the hospital, this hospital, since the ambulance was already taking you guys here. And, yeah...” Chanyeol finishes. 

Jongin doesn’t say anything for a while, and simply looks at him. When Chanyeol doesn’t look like he’s going to continue, Jongin frowns a little. “No, I mean, what happened to everyone inside the car.”

There's a sharp inhale, followed by, “Well, other than being really shaken, the manager and the driver were both unscathed, since they were in the front seats. Lu Han-hyung got away with only a couple of bruises. It turns out he was trying to make sure you weren't thrown out of your seat. For some reason, Minseok-hyung flew into Zitao, and they were both kind of beaten up, but Wu Fan hyung got out of it pretty much fine. Minseok had a lot of lacerations in his arms from glass and metal digging into him, so he's really bandaged up and taking it easy.”

It doesn’t escape Jongin’s notice that Sehun’s not mentioned again. “Chanyeol, just tell me what happened to Sehun, please,” Jongin is begging now. He's starting to fear the worst, because no one will tell him what happened to his best friend, and he wants to vomit, he thinks about how much he loves Sehun and, “Sehun. What happened to Sehun?”

“I...Jongin-ah, Sehun was in traction for an entire night,” Chanyeol says. 

“I know that!” Jongin explodes, “What does that even mean, I, will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?”

“The doctors thought that he might lose function in most, if not all of his muscles.” 

Jongin stills. “What?”

“He should be fine now, I mean I think, I think he's okay now. They're going to perform surgery on him here, in Beijing hospital. They're scared to move him back to Korea for surgery, so his parents are flying over. And then they're going to send us back in small groups so that we don't attract attention. No one's made a statement about this, and we think that none of the fans saw. Or if they did, they're keeping it quiet. Baekhyun, Jongdae and Kyungsoo were sent back yesterday. Yixing, Zitao, Wu Fan, and Lu Han are going to get some time to visit their families. I'm going back with Minseok and Joonmyeon tomorrow. There’ll be managers to stay with you and Sehun. But Jongin, his femur was shattered. The reason why your arm is so badly done is because you had yanked him towards you to protect his head, but Sehun's entire right leg is hurt pretty bad.” Chanyeol pauses and tries to catch his breath. “Really, really bad,” he says again, for emphasis or to find where he was again, Jongin doesn’t know. He lowers his voice to a whisper and Jongin thinks he hears his heart break, “I don't think he'll be dancing anytime soon. Not for a year, at least.” He turns his head away. “I think, we're being sent back and given vacations because EXO is going on an unofficial indefinite hiatus.”

Jongin's world collapses. 

 

They run tests and scans on him. Eventually, the headache is chalked up to a mild head injury, combined with trauma and malnutrition. The pain dissipates quickly and Jongin finds himself functioning with a clear head sooner rather than later. Chanyeol leaves the day after he has his conversation with Jongin, and Jongin spends nights pretending to sleep rather than talking to staff. It's like this that he misses his only chance to visit Sehun. Every time he gathers enough courage to speak to the nurses, he realizes that he doesn't have enough courage to actually look Sehun's parents in the eye, much less talk to them about their son and his injuries. And even after that, if he convinces himself that speaking to them wouldn't be too bad, Jongin realizes that seeing Sehun lying immobile on a hospital bed would be too much for him to handle.

Jongin is discharged within a week of his time of entry to the hospital, and is driven to the airport in a black town car. Their manager carries everything for him, and he keeps his face hidden under a hat and a hoodie, and for the first time since Jongin had become Kai, there's no fan screaming his name at him when he gets out of the vehicle to step into the line for the airport's check-in, no slew of cameras or posters. He would have been so grateful for the break, but not like this, not at the expense of someone's well being. 

The entire plane ride is quiet. Jongin brutally remembers how much he hates sitting on an airplane for lengthy amounts of time, up in the air, uncomfortable, unable to stretch out. He doesn't listen to music or watch an episode of an anime on his phone. He spends the entire time staring out the window and thinking, thinking to himself, thinking about himself, but mostly thinking about Sehun. He doesn't realize he's fallen asleep until his manager, who’s carrying Jongin’s bag, is shaking him awake. 

“I’'ll take it,” Jongin says roughly, and lifts the bag onto his own shoulders. 

His arm's broken, not his entire body, not like Sehun who can't get up and move, not like Sehun who's stuck lying in a hospital bed for the next few weeks. He follows his manager obediently through the gates, silent and sullen the entire way. 

“There's a car waiting to take you back to the dorms,” his manager says, when they near the exit. 

Jongin nods.

“And the group is going to have an extended vacation of sorts for the next little while. Try not to be seen out too much, don't get into any trouble.”

“Aren't you coming with me to the dorms?” Jongin asks.

“There's so much stuff to do and figure out...No, I'm going back to the company.” 

Jongin swallows. He doesn't say goodbye. He sits in the car and looks on, completely unaware of the waving figure who closes the door behind him. Even as they drive into the underground parking of the dorms, he's oblivious to his surroundings. He only jumps to awareness when he hears the doors of the car unlock, and thanks the driver, rushing out with his luggage before he can be asked if he needs help. 

He drags all of his stuff with him up to their rooms and pauses outside the door. He looks at it, and wants to laugh at himself because of how cowardly he feels. He can't laugh. He forces down a sob and leans back against the wall in the corridor. He slides down and sits, feeling pathetically small. Jongin pulls his phone out from his pocket and dials his manager.

“Hello?” 

“Hyung, I know this is late, but do you think there's somewhere else I can stay tonight? I don’t know, the dorms, I just don’t know if I’ll be alright here.”

There's a pause. 

“I'll see what I can do.”

 

 

Four hours later, they meet up in the underground of the dorms and Jongin is taken away, driven out to an older apartment building some twenty minutes from the dorms. They take the stairs up and Jongin notices that his manager looks absolutely exhausted. He tries not to think about how tired he must look too.

“What is this place?” Jongin asks. 

They pause on the landing and their manager turns to him. 

“The company owns a few small properties meant mostly to act as safe houses in case of a scandal or something like that. This one's a repurposed studio apartment, so there's not much in it other than a bed. I hope you have toiletries and things with you.”

Jongin looks at him. They continue up the stairs. 

“Someone will be by with basic food necessities tomorrow. They can bring you what you need. Don't expect meals or anything, it'll probably be ramyun and kimchi for a while.” 

He opens the door to reveal a tiny room with a single wire frame bed in the corner. The floorboards look old and dusty and the walls are an ugly beige colour. 

“Strictly speaking, I only managed to get this room because I cited privacy issues. If you're wondering, you're here because you're terrified that a fangirl is going to come find you and corner you or a group of them will surround you and you'll be injured again or your injury will get worse. That's all I can really say.” 

Jongin opens his mouth to say something, but decides against it. 

“Don't worry. I'll be in touch,” his manager says and indicates a landline phone on the kitchen counter that Jongin hadn't noticed before. He doesn't think he's seen a landline in ages. 

With that, his manager leaves. The door closes and Jongin is alone. 

 

 

Jongin drops his stuff to the floor and sits on the mattress. He's finally alone, and he thinks he should be able to breathe again, but there's no sense of relief. Each breath he breathes is laboured, like it's the last one he'll ever have. He can't get rid of the sting behind his eyes no matter how much he rubs them, and the choked feeling his throat refuses to go away. He thinks now, surely he can finally cry the tears he's been saving up since that morning in the van, but no matter how much he wants to, he can't cry. He thinks now, it must have sunk in, so that he can remember and see the images in his mind, and focus on the pain in his arm, the hurt in his chest, but nothing happens and he can't cry. 

If there is something worse than sadness, it is being completely numb to all emotion. 

If it hadn't been for him, it wouldn't be like this. Sehun would have fallen asleep on Lu Han's shoulder and it wouldn't have mattered that he was asleep and didn't realize he was halfway to being killed until his leg was destroyed. He thinks about what Chanyeol said, about the doctors being scared that he would lose all his muscle function and Jongin feels like puking even though he hasn't had anything to eat for over half a day. All of his limbs feel undeserved, like he was given safety even though it should have been him in the surgery room, not Sehun, never Sehun. 

They could be fine now, because Jongin would have been awake, could have shielded himself as best as possible, and even if he would have been injured too, it surely wouldn't have been as bad as Sehun, lying, without the ability to dance. 

This is what breaks Jongin's heart the most, the fact that Sehun can't dance. To Jongin, who knows nothing but dance, who doesn't love and want to dance, but needs it, needs dancing in his blood, in his heart, in his mind, he can't begin to fathom what it's like to lose movement. It's different from his waist hurting or his back cramping, it's different because even if it's painful, at least Jongin can still move when he's injured. But Sehun, with his bones broken, couldn't get up even if he tried. 

For Jongin, the staff members trying to help him carry anything were a reminder that Jongin got by with little more than a broken arm and traumatic shock. He was still able to function normally, could go out and get a late dinner if he wanted, or cook himself a meal. He could feed himself, and then could take a shower and change out of his clothes and if he wanted to, he could sleep. As he lies down on the bed, spreading his limbs across the mattress, he thinks about choice, being able to make choices, and wills himself to cry without any success. 

When Drogba first confirmed that he was leaving Chelsea, Jongin had complained to Lu Han that, “He's such a fucking life ruiner, who the fuck does he think he is, ditching his team with all that personal success, like what about defending the Champions League title or something, that fucker.” and Lu Han had giggled quietly to himself at Jongin's rant.

Didier Drogba had not ruined any lives. Didier Drogba leaving was not the sole reason that Chelsea hadn't made it past the group stage the next year, nor was he the only cause for Chelsea's third place finish in the premier league. In fact, even if it were Drogba's fault, he didn't actually ruin Jongin's life. Jongin was now an expert on life ruining, having destroyed Sehun's into a crushed femur with eleven screws, bone grafting, and titanium rods. 

If anyone is a life ruiner, it's Kim Jongin, and he knows it. 

He falls asleep staring at the ceiling sometime around four in the morning, fully dressed, without brushing his teeth. It's nearly noon when he finally wakes up to his phone vibrating against his thigh in the pocket of his pants. He lets it ring, unable to bring himself to care about picking up, and too sleepy to fish it out anyway. He turns over after it stops vibrating and considers getting up to make himself breakfast. It's been an entire day since he's eaten anything and his stomach is protesting. 

The refrigerator is completely devoid of food. He rummages through all of the cabinets to find a box of bottled water and opens a bottle to drink. There's so much and absolutely nothing to do, but he decides to see what the bathroom is like before doing anything else. He's interrupted by his phone vibrating again. Jongin sighs and puts down his water, fumbling for his phone to check who's trying to contact him. 

He has one missed call and an unread text message, both, it turns out, from Chanyeol. The text reads, ' _What are you doing, man?_ '

Jongin frowns and texts back, ' _Rebuilding my world. Don't come near._ ' 

He turns off his phone and throws it onto the bed along with his clothes. He hasn't had a proper shower since he was first admitted into hospital, and luckily there's soap in the drawers. Without bothering about his hair, he washes himself until he feels clean for the first time in weeks. It's a lapse in foresight on his part when he comes out of the stall and realizes that he has no towel. He swears and air-dries himself, standing awkwardly in the middle of the apartment, stark naked. 

When only his hair is still dripping wet, he unlocks his phone again and sees that Chanyeol’s sent him a reply already. He waits until he’s pulled on boxers, jeans, and a shirt out of his suitcase, and is fully dressed before reading what it has to say. 

' _Without us? Without EXO? Without Sehun?_ '

His hands start to tremble first, and then it's his entire body, and Jongin feels sad, hurt, angry, all at the same time, and he can't stop shaking as he presses delete, clearing the entire history of their text conversations. He repeats the action with all his contacts, everyone he's talked to in the past two years, over and over again, delete, clear all, yes, clear all, yes, clear all, yes. He only hesitates when he gets to Sehun's name, but then his thumb lowers and that's deleted too. 

He wishes he had started crying then too, but he doesn't, he sits with his head against the wall, and tries to breathe. Dancing is completely out of the question, he can't bring himself to get up and stand, much less move. He doesn't eat that day, or the day after that, even though someone comes in with groceries and to tidy up the place a bit. Jongin could be doing something useful with himself, but he ends up sitting on the bed watching as someone sweeps the floors for him, lays out shampoo, conditioner, towels, toothpaste, a toothbrush, stocks his cabinets with plates and cutlery. 

He should be embarrassed, but he's far from it. Instead, he's numb, incredibly numb to everything that happens around him, and he spends each day doing little more than sleeping. He's not in a jail cell, but he feels like a prisoner. Sleep, wake up, pretend you have an existence and that your life isn't meaningless, repeat. It should be a wake up call, but instead, Jongin sits and he doesn't dance, he can't dance, not when it means almost as much to him as Sehun does. 

When Jongin had first been told that there was something to love other than dance, he thought it was absurd that people would devote more time to each other than the dance floor. He voiced this opinion frequently, most often after a good practice session. But now, he sees and realizes that there are people in his life much more precious than his own ability to do triple pirouettes. 

Mostly, he stares at his phone and wonders whether or not he should do what he would normally be doing, searching their names online, looking at posts by fans, checking to make sure that there were good pictures of him posted. But he can't look, not when SM still hasn't released any information about why EXO so suddenly halted all of their activities, can't even begin to fathom what kind of stories they've posted, or crazy theories they've thought up. 

What scares him the most isn't that the fans are speculating. It makes sense that they're trying to reason out a logical explanation for their sudden departure. The problem is that he can't decide if it would be worse that what they postulated was right, or if their ideas were completely wrong. He's terrified that if they found out the truth, they would blame him just as he blamed himself, and that they'd seek him out, attack him, make him pay. He's petrified at the idea that they have no idea what's real and what isn't, and doesn't want to think about what they would do to him if they found out, months after the fact. 

Only one thing scares him more, and that's the reaction of the other members. If they're just as fuzzy on what happened as Chanyeol was, they're probably not angry with Jongin, but if they knew, they would probably hate him. He shudders every time he thinks about what Zitao would say to him, thinks about the look he would be given, thinks he'd probably be killed. Zitao seeks justice; he has no patience for people who hurt others, especially for people who hurt his friends. Jongin had been allowed to stay by himself at this apartment for his own safety against whatever the fans might do, for security; but secretly, Jongin thinks he's most protected from the rest of EXO. 

Jongin, who thinks that he's trapped because he's staying in a room by himself, has a clear cut idea of what happened. Jongin does not delude himself into thinking that the other members aren't stuck in limbo, feeling more helpless and useless than he does. There were schedules they were supposed to attend, rehearsals and performances in the works, there were so many plans that were all suddenly written off. At the very least, they could be preparing for their next album, but with a date up in the air, and the very existence of EXO in question, he doesn't think that anyone's in the studios. 

Probably the only people doing anything useful at this point are the members like Yixing, who are composing as usual, who are in the business for the music, for the stage. In the industry of entertainment, if you're never in front of an audience, you can never do your job. All of the members have worked hard to get to where they are, and all of them love what they do, and now, none of them can do it. They can't get up on stage and sing or dance, they can't be on radio shows or in side projects, they're stuck without any idea of when or how they'll get out. 

There's no way he can forget this fact. He doesn't deserve to, so he doesn't let himself. Jongin plays videos of EXO standing a line with their hands out, and thumbs up. “We are one, we are EXO,” Joonmyeon says, before Jongin pauses the video, rewinds, and replays. He watches it over, and over again, memorizing the way all of their faces look, each one pleased in their own way, everyone satisfied and content, if not happy. He looks at all of them without really seeing them, too scared to focus on any one face, too nervous about what he'll have to realize he has destroyed. 

_Fuck up_ , he thinks to himself, _I'm such a fucking fuck up, I've fucked everything up for everyone_ , and he realizes how sorry he is, how genuinely sorry he is to everyone. To EXO, to their company, who acts like they have no idea what to do because this isn't the kind of thing that's written into their contracts, to their managers and staff, to Sehun, to Sehun's parents, and to some extent he even feels sorry for himself. 

He’d met Sehun's parents a few times at big school events, and his mother had smiled at Jongin and thanked him for being a great friend, and Sehun hadn't changed his expression at all but he blushed and Jongin noticed. He thinks of their happy faces and can't imagine what it must be like to see your son lying in a hospital bed in so much agony. 

He feels sorry, but he's not sure he feels sorry enough. 

This is probably what despair tastes like, bitter and sour and dry in his mouth, nowhere to go and nowhere to hide, not really. 

It's the thought of Sehun's parents at school that makes Jongin start dancing again. He stands, in the middle of the room, and slides into a straddle, and realizes he's lost his splits, and thinks that he can't do anything right, letting himself slip up even now. He thinks, at least for Sehun's sake, he should still be moving because his body can, because his body will let him, because he won't shatter if he stretches a little or rotates a joint. Eventually, it's the dancing that he occupies his time with. He spends twelve hours a day, or maybe even thirteen, doing nothing but practice. His phone plays videos of choreography, and he learns it, internalizes it, goes over every move beat by beat, repeats it until it's in his muscle memory, replays the video over and over, watches until his eyes are sore, and he dances. Everything he learns becomes his own, and even though he's supposed to be copying someone, imitating other dances, everything ends up with a touch of Jongin, and he remembers dance for what it was. The only thing he knows how to throw himself into, mind, body, and soul, when no one else is around him, when he can't even trust himself. 

It's always been dance. 

He doesn't expect anyone to communicate with him, but it still hurts when he thinks about it. He has no right to be disappointed, but he had assumed that someone would wonder where he was. Supposedly, the other members would have left the dorms too, if Jongin was gone, maybe to their parents homes. The dorms probably aren't completely abandoned, but he doesn't think he has a right to visit, not after that first day. On some days, when he convinces himself that he should be there, with the other members instead of alone in his self-imposed exile, he remembers that he doesn't know what he would say to them. At first, it's because he can’t imagine bringing himself to recount or explain what happened. And then, a few days after that, it becomes something about him not being with the rest of them, not supporting or being part of the group at its time of greatest need. 

Strangely, it's this turn of events that makes him believe in God. He's never really needed to have faith in anything. Not until now, when he needs God three times a week, when he's in bed and realizes how lonely he is. Jongin, apart from being alone, has never felt so much loneliness, so alone that it's in his bones, so lonely, and so so empty. 

Other than the occasional check-up call from a manager on the landline, Jongin hasn't spoken to anyone in weeks. And as much as he seeks solitude and comes off as cold, trying to project an image of handsome ruggedness without the weakness of dependence, he does need other people in his life. He craves human touch with a regularity that thrums in him now, thinks that he would feel better even if he were sitting beside someone silently for a few minutes. It could be easily done if he just went outside to a cafe or a park, and sat down with one of the other residents of the city, or even walked around the street outside and greeted some of the elderly who did exercises in the morning; human interaction wasn't so far away from him. But Jongin is a coward and he can't find the courage in him to go out and see people. He's scared that he'll look up into the face of a fan and that they'll start screaming at him angrily. He's scared that someone will find him and catch him, and the police aren’t really hunting him, he's not a runaway, he's not in real trouble, but it feels like he should be. 

 

It isn't for a few weeks afterward that someone calls his cell phone. He shouldn't be surprised that it's Lu Han, because Lu Han has always been the socialite of them all, and Lu Han is, Jongin can admit now, one of the best friends he has. Lu Han takes care of people in his own way, because he cares about them so genuinely and so deeply. Lu Han calls, and Jongin doesn't think he can face him, not if Lu Han is calling to get angry with him, or blame him. He doesn't think he can deal with confrontation in any way, and he's too scared to lose what might be his only friend left. 

He stares at the phone. Stares and stares as it rings and rings, but he refuses to pick up. 

Lu Han, unlike Chanyeol, leaves him voicemail. 

It takes Jongin three tries to gather enough courage to listen to that message. 

“Jongin-ah, it's Lu Han hyung. I'm calling now because I just got back in Seoul. Sehun's surgery went well, and SM flew him back on a private flight with his family, and the other EXO members. So we're all here now, and Sehun-ah's going to be in rehab for a while. Jonginnie, why don’t you see him? Jongin, you’re in love with him aren’t you?” 

Whatever Jongin thought was coming, it wasn't that. It wasn't to be so shocked about the fact that Lu Han knew, he knew what Jongin didn't want to admit to himself. He didn't expect a gentle voice, or kindness, or a sense that absolutely nothing was wrong, that everything was going to be okay. He didn't expect Lu Han to be so at ease about everything, to have not a hint of accusation in his voice, and it makes Jongin reflect about what's holding him back. It's precisely because he's in love with Sehun that he can't see Sehun hurt in anyway. 

_Love is strong_ , Jongin thinks, _but not stronger than pain_ , and he remembers blood, he can see it, the broken windows, the sound of screeching tires, he remembers pain again and he's panicking, breaking down, the memory of that crash serving only to haunt him, terrify him, and he screams, lets out a bloodcurdling shriek, screams, and screams, and screams until he's hoarse, collapsed into a heap on the ground, and all he can smell is that of burnt rubber, the tang of iron in his mouth, smoke, gasoline, feels broken glass all over him again, can hear it, can see it, can taste it, and it's awful, it's absolutely awful. The feeling of dread builds in the pit of his belly and sits there, refusing to go away. It makes him sick to his stomach, but he wretches without anything coming up, and his head starts to pound and throb with pain, and everything feels like it's gone to shit, like he's found his way to a living hell. 

He doesn't spend any of that day dancing. After hearing the voice message, he curls up on the bed and lies there, completely exhausted, drained emotionally and mentally, and when he closes his eyes he can't sleep because he can see the crash happening again and again. He doesn't want to sleep, knows that if he does, he'll dream, and it'll be the crash again and again. 

He can't relive that experience because it's like he's hurting Sehun again and again. 

There are a lot of things he wants to say to Lu Han. He wants to ask him for advice, for support, even just talk to him and hear his voice and know that life goes on. Then, he hears Lu Han's voice asking him, “Jongin, you’re in love with him aren’t you?” and he knows that it's impossible, not with Sehun in a rehabilitation centre trying to relearn how to stand, being treated like a baby, being taught how to walk again because of Jongin. It doesn't stop him from thinking up questions, however. 

In his head, he has conversations with Lu Han. “Is everything going to be okay?” Jongin asks, and Lu Han tells him, “Yes, certainly, in fact, everything is already okay.” “What is wrong with me?” he asks, and Lu Han replies, “Absolutely nothing.” And that, just that, gives Jongin a little bit of comfort. Even though there are so many moments when he could, and so many reasons for him to, Jongin doesn't cry. He doesn't know why, and this is the question that's always on the tip of his tongue, the question that brings him closest to calling Lu Han each time. Every time, the thing that stops him again is Sehun's face, crystal clear in his mind, and Jongin's courage breaks, and he can't do it. 

There's a part of him that also wishes that Sehun would call him. He knows that he's made no effort to contact Sehun, didn't even get a chance to see him when they were being treated in the same hospital. He knows that, but internally, he still wishes that Sehun would text him some obscene message about how stupid the other people around him were, or about how bored he was. It would probably make Jongin smile for the first time in ages. But no message comes from Sehun and Jongin can't exactly blame him. 

It’s knowing that Jongin has no right to want Sehun to call him that makes him do it. He’s just holding it in his hand when out of nowhere, he throws his phone across the room in frustration, only momentarily satisfied by the loud smacking noise when it hits the other wall, and even from here he can see that it’s cracked. He feels oddly victorious. 

As a friend, he should be responsible at least for finding out where Sehun is staying, what rehabilitation centre he's being treated in, what their visitor hours are. It's definitely somewhere in the best friends contract that Jongin is obligated to at least see Sehun. He wonders if the rest of the EXO members are with him, if they see him and if they talk about how horrible Jongin is without him there, horrible for not fulfilling his duties as a member of the band, as a coworker, but more importantly, as a friend. They're all friends, really, even if they fight, bicker, or annoy each other. They've bonded over so many trivial and momentous things over the past years that it's impossible not to be friends. And friends, friends are supposed to support each other. Not hole themselves up in isolation. Jongin hasn't seen the light of day except to visit the hospital to remove his cast and attend subsequent mandatory check up. Friends, lovers, whatever it is, Jongin should be there. 

 

But he isn’t there. Jongin is a quick twenty-minute car ride away from the dorms, but he’s a million miles away. The only thing that’s right with him is that he’s alive. When he presses his fingers to his face and his palms to his throat, he’s throbbing with life. Being alive is what makes things hurt. If only the pain wasn’t so intense and constant. But he’s always wondering if Sehun’s all right, always wants to apologize to someone, to tell someone that he’s okay. He thinks that if he can say he’s fine to someone else, that he can convince himself that he’s fine too.

In the end, being alive, without eating, and constantly moving, is what drives Jongin over the brink, and his body caves to exhaustion. He falls asleep and stays that way for an entire day.

Jongin wakes up with sweaty palms and an uncomfortable stickiness covers his body. He can barely breathe. He curls and uncurls his fists slowly. He wiggles his toes. He furls his eyebrows. He cracks his neck. He’s in bed. There’s the blanket. There’s the pillow beneath his head. Yes, he was sleeping. He turns his head and hopes that when he opens his eyes, it’s Sehun that he sees. It’s Sehun that he dreams of. In that brief moment right before he falls asleep, he thinks _yes, I love him_.

 

“How's Jongin holding up?” Zitao asks quietly. 

At quarter to midnight, there's only two people other than the receptionist in the lobby of the Seoul Rehabilitation Hospital. They sit quietly on the chintz armchairs, elbows resting against each other on the armrests, and looking out of the floor-length windows to the darkened streets outside. Zitao sips instant coffee made from a vending machine out of a styrofoam cup and looks at Lu Han expectantly. 

Lu Han lowers his head to stare into his cup of tea, waiting for it to cool and trying to think of a way to answer Zitao's question.

“Well, he stepped out of the apartment for the first time yesterday,” Lu Han decides finally, keeping his voice lowered. 

“That's good news, isn't it?”

“He walked out into the sunlight and looked like he was terrified of it. And then he just wandered around a bit lost, watched people randomly, and ended up finding a payphone.”

“Doesn't he have his own phone? How's management keeping in touch with him?”

“I have no idea. But anyway, he definitely made a call. It was short, and I didn't hear him say anything,” Lu Han says and pauses to take a breath. 

Zitao interrupts him, “Didn't? Or Couldn't?”

“I don't think his lips were moving at all.”

“That's fucking weird.”

“I know. Anyway, I followed him for a while, and all he did was walk around and around and around, he wasn’t even looking at anyone or anything. It was like he was suddenly in awe and wonder about trees, the clouds, the sun, the grass, pretty much everything.”

“Hang on, you followed him? Have you been following him daily or something?”

“Um, well, actually, I've just been visiting once a week. So I guess I can't say for sure whether it was his first time out or not. I guess I was just lucky. I was about to leave when he came down the steps.”

“And he didn't see you?”

“I think even if he did, he wouldn't have really seen me, if you know what I mean,” he says, and hesitates. “I think, I knew he was out of it, since he left and all. But I don't know why he left, and I didn't think it would be this bad. I've never seen Jongin look so terrible. His skin's a mess, his eyes are dead, his cheeks sunken, and even the way he carried himself was kind of sad. Like he was hiding his face from fans even though no one was there. He must have lost fifteen or twenty pounds since the time we last saw him. And keep in mind, I saw him in the hospital when he was just on IV drips.” 

Zitao swears loudly and the receptionist shushes him. 

“Sorry,” he says, before turning back to Lu Han. “That would fit with the theory that he hasn't left the house. But you said last time that there was someone bringing him food.” 

“Just because there's food in the house doesn't mean he's eating it,” Lu Han reminds him, and blows on his tea to cool it some more, before finally taking a sip. He grimaces at how awful it is, but takes another mouthful and swallows anyway. 

Zitao laughs at him. “Want to trade drinks?”

“Fuck no, that shit is vile and shouldn't be called coffee.”

“Oh, like the tea is any better.”

“Point. But all my parents gave me when I visited was crappy teabag tea in a paper cup. Drinking this is almost like being back in their condo, sitting on their sofa and feeling uncomfortably unfamiliar with the people who raised me.” 

Zitao snorts. "You were probably just making it more awkward, smiling at them as if they weren't the ones who practically threw you out of the house."

“People are worth more than their views, Huang Zitao. Just because my mother doesn't come shopping with me like yours does doesn't make me like her any less.” 

Lu Han looks at Zitao who stares back at him and they fall silent. The darkness sits on them like a blanket, encouraging sleepiness. It's so quiet that they can hear their own breathing, and the ticking of the clock above the reception desk. The coffee has done nothing for Zitao except to make his insides feel warm. His eyes close and he’s on the verge of dozing off when Lu Han speaks again.

“What if,” Lu Han proposes, and Zitao's eyes fly open and wide awake, “What if we, I dunno, gave them a push?”

Zitao, who is suddenly very conscious and aware, frowns. “I don't know if I like what you're thinking of.”

“With Jongin, no one knows what the hell he's thinking. I have an inkling that he's blaming himself, because god knows why, but he's an idiot like that. But if we could, maybe, like, remind him that Sehun's alive and kicking and alright even if not terribly happy...”

“If he's blaming himself for being an asshole by not being beside his best friend at this point in time, he probably deserves to wallow in misery.”

“Zitao,” Lu Han says sharply.

“Think about it. We were all worried. We all still are. But we came together right, held each other's hands, all that cheesy stuff and got through it. Sehun woke up in the morning and he saw at least one of us there, and he smiled.”

“He smiled, but his smile got more and more strained as the days went on. You noticed it too, that he's missing Jongin, wants to know where he is, why he's not here, but he's too afraid to ask any of us.”

“I would tell him that he was alive, if he had asked,” Zitao sniffs.

“Wow, what an enormous help you are. But the thing is, none of us know why he isn't here either.”

“Who are you kidding, of course we know. We all know that Jongin's madly in love with Sehun, can't keep his eyes off him, but he's scared of his feelings because he's lived his entire life only attracted to dance. He has no idea how to deal with people, and he's terrified of the fact that he needs a person more than he needs dancing. I say if he can't even handle that revelation, he doesn't deserve to be in Sehun-ah's space. He'll probably just end up hurting him in the process of trying to figure himself out.”

Lu Han frowns. “I think he deserves a chance, at the very least.”

“Okay, say we gave him that chance. It doesn't matter if he handles himself maturely or not because Sehun's hurt and he's a lost puppy right now and he would probably do something stupid in front of Jongin, like try to run towards him, and then we'd be stuck with years more of EXO hiatus because he was too careless.” 

“I think it's also pretty reckless just to let this sit and... fester. Jongin's wasting himself away. He's going back to that aloof human being who would rather melt in the arms of a dance studio barre than another human being. We can't not do anything,” Lu Han says and turns to look at Zitao, who sniffles. He squints at him, under the dim lighting, and realizes that Zitao is trying not to cry.

“He hurt Sehun-ah. Sehun's been miserable since day one because everyone and their mom is here to help him through physical therapy except for the person who mattered to him the most. Fuck Jongin for that. Fuck him and being selfish and keeping to himself when all of us were in pain. If he comes back to visit Sehun, he better be groveling.”

Lu Han puts out a hand to try to calm him down, but Zitao ignores him and continues.

“Oh Sehun is horrible with his feelings. He pretends not to give a fuck about anything because it's his defence mechanism. It's easier to have a carefree attitude than it is being emotionally invested in everything and then getting hurt half the time in the process. But it doesn't matter because Sehun _does_ give a fuck, gives probably a couple dozen fucks in fact, when it comes to Kim Jongin, who used to give all the fucks in the world but is now acting like Sehun doesn't mean a fucking thing!”

Suddenly, he stops and backs down when Lu Han steels him with a glare. 

“Zitao, you weren't the one with him and trying to keep him entertained for the eight weeks when he was non-weight bearing. You know, and I know, and Sehun knows, and everyone in the world except Jongin knows that Sehun loves him. And before we pass judgment on either of them, Sehun also wants him to be here. And Jongin needs to see that, now more than ever. And what Sehun needs isn't us mollycoddling him, or teasing him, or making him laugh, or watching movies with him, or helping him as he tries to regain his sense of balance, or supporting him when he relearns how to walk. What Sehun needs is to be loved. Not just by us, but by Jongin. Loved so much that he realizes how strong he is, that he doesn't need anyone or any form of assistance,” he says calmly. “Only Jongin can show him that now.”

 

“Hello? ...Hello? Is anybody there? Can whoever this is stop calling us? I’m...going to hang up...Hello? Hello?” Hearing his mother’s voice out of the receiver affects him more than he thinks it will, every time Jongin calls. 

He stands in the phone booth on the corner of the street where the apartment is, the third time in a month and a half. The phone in his hand stays pressed to his ear, but he doesn't speak up. He doesn't know if he can explain to his mother why he doesn't want her to know where he is, or why he doesn't want anyone to find him. But at the same time, he wants to know that she's okay and hearing her voice makes him glad that she sounds the same as ever. It makes him a little sad that his mom has no idea that her son was in a car accident, and he feels guilty for not telling her. Yet, the people around him have moved on, even if he isn't there, and he's grateful for that. 

When the line clicks and the beeping that signals a finished call ensues, he grips the ledge under the payphone tightly with one hand, and hangs up. He squeezes his eyes closed before bringing his other hand down to rest on the ledge too, and feels something under his fingertips that's not cool metal. 

Opening his eyes, he squats down to look at the small white envelope and pulls it out to take a closer look. He stands up and reads it, his eyes widening when he reads 'Jongin' on the front. He frowns slightly because the handwriting looks familiar, and he wonders to himself if it's a fan. He hadn't noticed any of them. He thinks that they would probably use the name 'Kai' if anything, and the envelope makes him curious. Taking the risk, he slides a finger under the flap and pulls out the contents, one small polaroid photograph.

The shot is of the inside of a cafe that he used to go to with some of the other members. It's a pretty run down place, but the coffee is good, it's open at all hours of night, and no one knows them there as members of a boy band. The baristas also don't have any patience for fans and help them stay there without being found. He doesn't think any fans should have a picture of the place, or at least, not from within, and it makes him wonder who it is who knew where he was, knew that this place was somewhere he used to frequent and would leave him a message like this. He turns it over but there’s no message on the back, and nothing written on the bottom of the front side either.

He slides the photo back into its envelope and places it in his back pocket. It stays there, forgotten, as he walks up the street to the park where he sits for a long time, face hidden by his winter jacket as he listens to the city around him, feeling the cold fresh air in his lungs and the sun shining down to warm him. He thinks that by returning to the outside world, he's starting to regain the idea of what it means to feel alive. 

 

The picture remains in the pocket of Jongin's jeans, untouched, until he returns home and readies himself for bed. He takes the envelope out and places it under his pillow before going to sleep and dreams about having coffee with Lu Han, who's dressed up like the Queen of England, complete with a tiara, gloves, and red lipstick.

“Tea time should be for tea,” Queen Lu Han tells him, before daintily picking up the cup and saucer in front of him and taking an equally dainty sip. He sets it back down without a clack and looks unimpressed at the chip in the butterfly print teacup. 

“Uh, sorry?” Jongin says, before quickly picking up his cup of Americano and taking a gulp, scalding his tongue in the process. He chokes a little and coughs twice. 

“Your Highness,” Queen Lu Han corrects him, politely offering him a tissue, which Jongin accepts gladly. “You should be addressing me as 'Your Highness.'”

“Oh, um, I'm sorry. Your Highness,” Jongin says and looks over to make sure he hadn't accidentally coughed up on the queen’s coral dress. 

“That's quite alright,” he says mildly and takes to calmly observing Jongin. “Sandwich?”

“Er, alright, yes, please, Your Highness,” Jongin says, struggling to be polite. He takes a bite-sized cucumber sandwich from the plate in front of him and tries to eat it with as little fanfare as possible. 

Queen Lu Han stops looking at him, and peers around at their surroundings. He wrinkles his nose periodically, but other than that, there’s no hint of disdain on his face. Either that, or it's just very well controlled. It's only then that Jongin realizes that they're in the cafe, the one that EXO frequents, the one in the photo he had received. 

“The decor here is quite awful, isn't it?” Queen Lu Han asks with no real note of disgust. 

Jongin rolls his eyes, and immediately regrets it. Are you supposed to roll your eyes when you're in front of royalty? Probably not. “Yeah,” he mutters after swallowing the last of his sandwich quickly, “Tell me about it.”

“Quite.”

“But I mean, at least it's clean right? Anyway, I like this cafe,” he says defensively. 

Queen Lu Han looks at him carefully and purses his lips. “My apologies then, I didn't mean to be...rude.” He peers at Jongin and Jongin feels distinctly like he's being judged, and that the queen is being sarcastic with him. “After all, this is your tea party," he says, before picking up a sandwich for himself and nibbling on it in a way that Jongin can only describe as daintily. 

When he wakes up he has an inexplicable craving for coffee. 

 

 

He finds himself ducking into the cafe without actually being prepared for any circumstances. For one, he's lucky that the fans have yet to chance upon the place, since the store isn't altogether far away from the dorms. For another, it's possible that he could run into someone, but he seats himself quickly and tries to avoid contact with anyone already seated. 

One of the waiters comes for his order, and he indulges his dream by asking for an Americano and a sandwich, smiling wryly to himself.

He waits, keeping his head down, and rubs his hands together to warm them. After a while, he starts scrolling through his phone for new dances to learn, weighing the pros and cons of Mobbin' and Titanium against each other. He's still pondering whether he can find better choreography for one or the other when the waiter returns.

“It's been a long time since any of the staff have seen you here,” he says, setting down his plate. 

Jongin tilts his head, and doesn't reply.

The coffee is set before him in a chipped china cup with a tiny butterfly pattern on it. He takes a sip of coffee and sets it back down, sitting and thinking about the last time he was here. 

_“I want something stronger,” Sehun said, mouth turned down, but eyes twinkling._

_Jongin looked at the cup of coffee in his hand, almost empty. “Alright, let me finish this and then we'll go somewhere else.”_

_They left after paying, and found themselves getting drunk off of cheap soju at a street vendor that didn't card sometime around four in the morning. Sehun was a giggly drunk, and Jongin a clingy one._

_“Tomorrow morning's going to be just terrible,” Sehun said, and laughed. Jongin couldn't help but laugh with him, before wrapping an arm around Sehun's waist._

_“No one's going to notice anything wrong with you. Your face when you have a hangover looks just like your normal face,” Jongin teased, before burying his face into Sehun's collarbone and inhaling Sehun's scent._

_“Well, I guess it'll just be everyone asking you what's wrong when you can't dance because your head hurts too much, and I'll be in some corner smirking away.”_

_“Ugh, you're the worst.”_

_“And the best part is that you won't actually be able to say what without getting into more trouble, so no one will bring you a glass of water, and you won't be allowed to wear shades inside, and you'll wish you could take another Advil once the music is blasting.”_

_“I hate you,” Jongin slurred, without any feeling._

_“Oh I know,” Sehun said before he erupted into uncontrollable giggles. It took him a good minute and a half before he could speak again. “I love you too.”_

Jongin's thoughts are sent sharply back to the present moment and, he finally turns to what will probably end up being his only meal for the day. He lifts the sandwich off the plate, crumbs falling off, and sees the envelope. It's almost expected. He takes a bite first, and chews slowly as he slides the envelope off the plate and brushes bread crumbs off of it. 

He swallows and reads his name written in the same familiar handwriting as was on the envelope he picked up in the phone booth. Brushing off his hands, he lifts up the flap and finds another polaroid. This time, it's of the SM building, and Jongin and Sehun are in the foreground, looking at each other and laughing. They're both sweaty and tired as if after a practice. It looks like something from their trainee days, and Jongin thinks he's never seen the picture before, or at least, doesn't remember it being snapped with his knowledge. 

Puzzled, his eyes slide down to the bottom of the photograph, where the address of the SM building is written. Why would anyone think that he needed to be reminded of the location? But then, he finishes reading, and realizes that the last line is a room number, that someone's trying to get him into a specific studio in the building. 

It has to be someone from the company then, who's been sending him all this strange stuff. The trouble is, he still doesn't know who it is. The only thing he knows is that if it's from the company, and if the location _is_ the company, he probably doesn't have to be worried about being mauled by fangirls. 

But he's not ready. He's not ready to go back and face people he hasn't seen in ...months. It's months now, even though for a while he was able to count the weeks. He's scared what will happen if he sees the dance instructors, the vocal coaches. He's more scared of being in the practice rooms and realizing how much he misses being with the other members, practicing, recording, and performing. He doesn't think he's ready to confront the fact that he needs EXO, loves EXO, and had abandoned EXO. _Maybe tomorrow_ , he thinks as he sets down some cash on the table, before bundling himself up and heading back out into the cold.

 

Tomorrow comes and goes, but Jongin does not return to the SM building. No one from management has called him since his last and final visit to the hospital, and he assumes that means that he isn't needed at the building, which means that Sehun is still too injured to participate in any activities, and also means that EXO is still stuck in their weird not-a-band limbo. He lies in bed, thinking about whether or not he could walk over without being spotted and cornered, and runs through possible situations in his mind, all of which seem stupid after the fact. There's not a great deal of space in the apartment, but it's sufficed for him up until this point, and he doesn't see why any of that would change suddenly. But then, his eyes flicker to the two polaroids which lie on the bed, his and Sehun's tiny blurry faces smiling, and his chest contracts a little, his eyes soften, and his will weakens. 

He doesn't sleep with the pictures under his pillow the second night, leaves them on the kitchen counter so Empress Lu Han can't visit his dreams again and give him strange ideas. 

The person who visits his dreams that night is Sehun, who looks at him with his lips sealed in a thin line. 

“Come,” Sehun says softly, and beckons at him with his hand. He's a Butterfly Prince, and looks so perfectly in tune with his surroundings.

Jongin follows, and Sehun leads him through a field of zinnias. Sehun reaches out to hold his hand, and Jongin takes it but keeps flinching because butterflies surround and land on Sehun wherever he walks, and Jongin's scared he's accidentally going to crush one and maim or kill it. One of them flies past his ear and sits in Sehun's hair, a perfect match in colour. It makes him think of the swallowtail that had landed on Sehun's shoulder the day of the car crash and he wakes up suddenly in a panic. The apartment is dark, and he rolls over to try to go back to sleep, willing himself to think of anything but that day this time. 

The next day comes and goes. Jongin makes it as far as the door before he stops himself. He hesitates as he reaches for his jacket, but caves and hangs it back up before he can unlock the room and leave. 

The day after that comes and goes. 

It's not until the fifth day after the cafe that he finally slips on his jacket, lifts the hood over his face, and shoves his hands into his pockets without reaching for the photo on the countertop. He doesn't need it to know what room his destination is. 

Jongin walks briskly in the thin layer of snow outside, taking back alleys and sideroads until he reaches the side entrance into the SM building. He dodges fans whenever he sees them until he manages to get inside, unzipping his parka and relishing in the warmth of the well-heated hallways. For what it was worth, SM didn't skimp on the essentials much, not when it came to the company itself, with its dozens and dozens of staff and workers. 

Where he was swift in his footsteps outside, he drags his feet up the stairs, careful to avoid looking anyone in the face, but finds that no one is in his way. Which is strange, because usually there's more activity, more costume and make-up designers rushing about in a flurry, or managers trying to find people. He doesn't question it as he makes his way down the hall, there are quiet days in the SM building too, he knows this, and considers the fact that without the twelve members of EXO there to cause trouble all the time, it's probably a lot calmer on a regular basis. 

He arrives, and double-checks that the room number is right, just in case, before opening the door.

 

The lights are off when he steps inside. This is not altogether strange. What is strange is that when he turns the lights on, there are at least a dozen polaroids all taped up to the mirrors that run along the side of the studio. Jongin closes the door behind him and tentatively steps up towards them. 

Each picture is of Jongin with Sehun. Some of them are pictures he's never seen before. Some of them shouldn't really be polaroids, but they're photos of photos. Each one has his name, written neatly, along with the date. He walks along the length of the room, looking at each of them carefully, peeling them off the mirrors and holding it up close to his face. 

There's a photograph from Jongin's high school graduation, a picture of a picture someone else had taken when Jongin had tucked his head into the crook of Sehun's neck, satisfied and happy as he holds too many flowers. He hadn't realized how happy he looked in the picture, but now that he thinks about it, he remembers the relief, both at graduating high school and having some semblance of a future. Sehun's presence had only added to that feeling of contentment, being able to graduate with your best friend at your side even if he wasn't in the same class as you was really comforting. 

Jongin touches the picture, traces a finger along the line of his lips, lips not quite curved into a smile, but eyes so soft and gentle that it's obvious he's smiling inside. He wonders if he'll ever regain that feeling of satisfaction again.

There are other pictures of them, pictures they had taken together with their phones, faces reflecting in the mirror, eyes trained on the picture instead of looking into the camera. They look young here, and have a healthy glow about them, devoid of any of the drained idol look that so commonly featured in their photographs now. In the picture, his arm is around Sehun's neck, and he thinks they might look happy. 

Further down is a polaroid of them together at the W photo shoot, their first photo shoot as idols. He remembers that they had tried to all selca together, with Taemin hyung and Lu Han hyung, but he doesn't remember taking this picture. Jongin looks like he's about to hit Sehun for something he's said, and Sehun's eyes are crinkled. He's certain now that they must have been teasing each other about looking awkward in the photos that the cameraman had taken. 

It wasn't that long ago, not really, but it feels like another lifetime. 

He’s overwhelmed by their camaraderie as he pulls down each picture. He looks at them smiling with each other, arms wrapped around each other's waists, shoulders, or necks and realizes he doesn't remember when Sehun had become so important in his life. He was always there, at every critical moment in time. The two of them had been together so long that Jongin wasn't quite sure what to do with himself without Sehun. And when he looks, when he really sees them, he realizes that when they were together it was always more than just being best friends, it was always knowing that they had each other's backs, being so faithful and loyal and trusting. It was love. It had always been love. From the first time they had danced together, way before they were naked in the showers together. And Jongin just hadn't been able to see that, not until the picture evidence was right in front of his eyes.

Finally, he reaches the last photograph. It's not chronologically the last photograph, but the last on the wall, and when he reaches up to grab it, he notices something strange. The photograph doesn't have Sehun in it, just features a sleepy Jongin grinning. 

_Kim Jongin  
15 January 2012_

That had been the day after his nineteenth birthday. He doesn't remember anything strange about that day, and the numbers don't set off any bells in his head. But then he looks closer at the way he's smiling in the photo, ponders.

Jongin thinks that it was the day after he had fucked Sehun for the first time. It must have been, he remembers now that Lu Han hyung had smirked at him the morning after and briefly wonders how it is that Lu Han manages to know everything.

_There were other people in the dorm but Sehun had looked positively tantalizing from the moment Jongin entered the room and everyone started singing Happy Birthday. He rushed impatiently through the cake and presents and when they finally, finally, had time alone in Jongin's room, doors locked and Jongin's bed waiting, Jongin was far more concerned about the amount of clothing Sehun was wearing, than about the other members hearing them. He made quick work of both of their clothes, tossing everything aside into a heap. He brought his hand to the back of Sehun’s neck and he pulled him down forcefully for a bruising kiss._

_Their teeth clacked against each other and Jongin had to adjust his head for a better angle. He sucked at Sehun’s tongue gently, and groaned loudly when Sehun swiped his tongue across his bottom lip. Sehun took charge and plunged his tongue into Jongin’s mouth, explored it and pressed their tongues against each other before they broke apart for air. Sehun arched against Jongin's thigh then, and Jongin's head spun._

_He felt the pressure of Sehun's cock against him, and Jongin wrapped his hand around both of them and tried to get them off. Sehun buried his face into Jongin’s neck and cried out before biting down on Jongin’s shoulder without any force. Jongin hissed loudly anyway, and attacked Sehun’s ear in retaliation, nibbling at the lobe and sucking at Sehun’s neck._

_Sehun whimpered from the sensation, and shifted his weight so his hand could join Jongin’s. And then, without any warning, Sehun pulled apart and sat up. He pierced Jongin with his gaze, and Jongin looked at him, confused and unsure what was wrong._

_“Teach me,” Sehun begged._

_Jongin wasn't ready for that. After all the sloppy blowjobs and quick rutting whenever they could steal a moment of privacy, he wasn't sure if either of them were ready. Terrified, he brought his hands up to Sehun's face, and kissed him slowly, deliberately, gently._

_“Are you sure?” he asked._

_Even with Sehun's fervent nodding, he was tentative._

_Sehun reached over to slick his fingers as best he could and Jongin pulled away, watching as Sehun slowly pressed one finger inside, tongue between his teeth and brow furrowed as he fingered himself. Jongin’s eyes were glued to the finger slipping in and out, and he felt his cock twitch just at the sight._

_When Sehun pushed in a second finger, it was Jongin who moaned. Moaned as Sehun scissored his fingers and bit down on his lower lip, squeezed his eyes tightly together as he added in a third finger. The fingers thrusted in and out of him, until he beckoned to Jongin._

_Jongin slicked his cock and unwrapped a condom._

_“You have those? See, you’ve been wanting it too,” Sehun pointed out as Jongin positioned himself against Sehun's entrance. Jongin said nothing, felt Sehun shiver in his arms. He put in very little pressure, waited for Sehun to slide himself down on him slowly and carefully. When he was all the way in, Sehun let out a shaky breath._

_“Okay?” he asked, and Sehun nodded slowly._

_He lifted his hips back up and lowered himself back down again, controlled, methodical._

_“Still okay?” Jongin asked, and this time Sehun's nod was much more eager. Jongin thought that he was taking this remarkably well. The anticipation in his body was thrumming, Sehun was so tight around him and it took every ounce of his self control not to start moving sharply into Sehun._

_“I’ll let you go at your own pace,” he said gently and had pulled out slowly, watching Sehun's face. When Sehun winced a little, he pulled him down towards him for a soft kiss._

_Sehun raised his head and nodded before he lifted his hips up in the air, and his hand fumbled to find Jongin’s dick. He positioned it against himself and lowered himself down. This time he didn't grimace when the head of Jongin’s cock penetrated him, but he knew he was holding back tears in his eyes. Jongin noticed. Jongin noticed and wrapped fingers around Sehun’s dick, tried to distract him from the pain and Sehun forced himself to grit the pain until he could feel that he was filled with Jongin to the hilt. Jongin let him sit there for a while, while Sehun accustomed himself to the feeling. It was in that moment that he thought about how odd it was that their sex wasn't frantic or rushed like it usually was._

_He looked up at Sehun's face, making the fact that it hurt. There were a million thoughts racing through his mind, and yet another million racing through Sehun's and between the two of them, Jongin realized he was the one who was supposed to comfort the other. He didn't let Sehun think too much for any longer, and put both hands on Sehun’s waist, Jongin angled his hips and bucked._

_Jongin was deeper into Sehun than he thought was possible. It still didn't seem like Sehun thought that it was pleasurable. But the mechanics finally worked out and then Sehun had begun to ride Jongin slowly, lifting himself up and lowering himself down over and over. The controlled pace drove Jongin up the wall, and he tried to circle his hips, tried to adjust and find Sehun's prostate, entering him in all positions, awkwardly fumbling and trying to find his way._

_So focused on trying to make Sehun feel good, Jongin had stopped caring about the weird pressure around his own cock, and kept palming Sehun's dick to keep him hard. It took a lot in him not to just simply lift Sehun up, turn him over, and fuck him into the mattress as hard and fast as he possibly could._

_It took them a few moments until Jongin finally found the right position, twitching against Sehun's prostate and sending a jolt of pleasure through him. Sehun cried out so sharply, and almost collapsed onto Jongin, before giving a half moan half scream. Jongin smirked then, knew he had finally got it, and kept his hips in that position. He thrusted upwards again and again._

_Sehun panted, “Jongin, more, please,” and Jongin was happy to oblige._

_He thrusted harder, faster, and groaned when Sehun had slammed back onto Jongin's dick to meet him halfway. And Sehun gave the most guttural moans whenever Jongin had met the right spot, finally understanding what sex was all about._

_Jongin pulled back a little, after that, felt himself driving too close to the edge too quickly, couldn't handle fucking Sehun like that, and Sehun had noticed, brought his own hand to slide against his dick. They moved together, skin pressing against each other, Jongin so far gone that he can't hold back, and he rushed their pace faster, repeatedly thrusting against Sehun's prostate, and Jongin had come first, arched his back and growled. He rode out his orgasm, jerked off Sehun until he too was coming with a groan._

_They had curled into each other after that, Sehun's cheek pressed against Jongin's chest, both of them half asleep before the thought of cleaning themselves up could even be suggested, both of them spent and completely exhausted._

The memory gives Jongin a strange nervous energy, which isn't sexual so much as it's uncontrollable. He thinks he could probably dance it off, and when he turns on the music, he's unsurprised that it's one of their teaser songs that comes out. Of course it would be, if someone had this all planned out right from the beginning. 

He dances the one song, the only track set to play apparently, since the sound system automatically shuts off after it’s over. Jongin’s exhausted and collapses onto his back against the laminated wood floor of the studio. He looks up at the ceiling and feels his muscles still alive with energy. He can still smell the scent of Sehun's hair, feel Sehun's skin under his fingers, tastes his lips against his tongue. 

His left arm is bent to cradle his head. He holds his right arm up and lifts his thumb. “EXO,” he breathes, and it courses through his veins: he is as much a part of EXO as EXO is a part of him. 

For the first time in months, he feels a need to go back to the dorms surge through him, a sense that he should finally return back home.

 

In all his years living in the dormitories, Jongin has never found this particular doorway menacing. And yet, he's terrified of unlocking the door to see what he might find inside. His hand trembles and he takes a shaky step inside and finds the apartment empty. 

“Hello?” He calls out tentatively, and receives no response. In a stronger voice he asks, “Everyone? Is anyone home?”

It's an eerie feeling to find the dorms so quiet. Usually there are at least several other members doing something or another, and there's always some noise involved. Where are they all? A group dinner? A party? Was this planned?

Not running into anyone in the company building, and now this, an empty dorm. Jongin's sure that someone is doing something behind the scenes.

He gets the distinct feeling that he's a mouse running in a maze and there is a scientist with a clipboard hovering over him. They watch him hit all the planned hurdles, laugh at him, and jot down any observations. They're peering at him with goggles on, and he's playing right into all their traps. He doesn't like feeling like an experiment. 

Instead of going into his own room, he opens the door to the room Sehun had shared with Lu Han and Kyungsoo and sits on Sehun's bed. He leans back, rolls over, and inhales what he imagines to be Sehun's scent from freshly laundered sheets that Sehun hadn't slept in. 

He fists the sheets with both hands and releases, clenching and unclenching, breathing in and out. _Stop running away_ , he thinks to himself. He had spent so long running away from his own feelings that running away from confrontation with Sehun or any of the other members had become his way of avoiding self-reflection. It wasn't just running away from his responsibilities; Kim Jongin was running as fast as possible far away from Kim Jongin.

Whatever turned him into this cowering man, he has to change. He has to reconcile his thoughts and feelings, and become a full person instead of just a shell. Gritting his teeth, he tries to figure out what he's so scared of. But it's so obvious when he actually asks himself the question. He's scared that Sehun hates him, scared that all of EXO hate him, scared because he's completely in love with Sehun. At the end of the day, what he wants is for Sehun to be okay, even if happy is asking too much, just okay would be enough. And if Sehun hadn't wanted to see Jongin, didn't want to talk to him, much less be friends or lovers, Jongin didn't know if he could survive. It was easier to practice avoidance just in case it came to the worst case scenario, if his worst fears became not just a nightmare but a reality.

He's losing it.

It's also the principle of the matter, losing out to himself, to fate, or whatever it was that led him here, conceding defeat just wasn't something he was willing to do. Even if it was unhealthy, he wasn't willing to sacrifice the bubble he had built around himself as a coping mechanism. Building a bubble within that bubble was his way of failsafe, just in case the outside bubble burst. 

But losing is a part of life. You can't really live without feeling failure, rejection, and unhappiness. It's the worst moments that make happiness so sweet, and so mistakes are just as important as success, it makes things valuable, and you hold what you treasure most even closer to your heart. You learn what it's like to value things and find them precious and it's in losing something that you realize just how important that thing is to you.

Jongin covers his eyes with his hands, looks up into the tiny darkened world he's created for himself, and realizes he needs more. Even if everything is fleeting, like a butterfly, which lands for the slightest moment, before it’s scared off, that moment when the butterfly is there is enough, it's all you need to live for. He separates his fingers and peers through the cracks and he doesn't know what the future has in store for him, but it's infinitely more vast and filled with so much more possibility than the four walls he's erected around himself. 

For years, Jongin danced to feel alive. Sehun made Jongin want to live so he could dance. 

“Sehun,” is the last word that comes out of his lips before he falls asleep. 

In his dreams, he's in the recreation room of that hotel in Beijing again, the last place they had stayed altogether, scattered throughout the floor in pairs, but all in one building, all in one place. 

There are earbuds in his ears, but for some reason it doesn't seem like there's any music playing, there's only silence all around him, and the silence is somehow deafening. He dances anyway, turns around, and suddenly sees Lu Han, who joins him in his dancing. 

Suddenly, Lu Han stops and points at him, and bursts into laughter. The older boy struggles to say something through his laughing and Jongin thinks he's being called a kitty cat. His eyes widen and he stops dancing. He frowns at the still laughing Lu Han, shakes his head and his earbuds pop out. 

Jongin wakes up and the light in the room is on, he can sense that even though there’s a hand covering his face. He doesn’t remember there being a light on when he had gone to sleep. 

He opens his eyes and removes his hands from his face. 

Lu Han is peering over him, he's not calling Jongin a cat, but he's smiling at Jongin just like one. 

Jongin bolts up and definitely pulls something in his speed and vigour. 

“Hyung!” It comes off as a lot of things, as surprise, as fear, as happiness, as relief. He wants to ask him where everyone is, he wants to apologize, there are a million things on the tip of his tongue. 

Lu Han doesn't say anything to him at first, but points his camera at Jongin's face and holds his finger over the shutter button. 

“Smile for the camera!” 

There's a flash and in his eyes and Jongin is momentarily blinded. He rubs his eyes and opens them again to see Lu Han holding onto a polaroid picture, a black pen in his hand and writing Jongin's name and the date.

“I-It was hyung, it was you all along.” 

He should have known. It was so obvious, the polaroids, the neat Hangul, no wonder he thought the handwriting for his name was so familiar, it hadn’t been the first time that Jongin had seen Lu Han write his name. And no one else would have made up such an involved ploy, no one but Lu Han hyung, and he should have known, he was so stupid. Jongin can’t believe it took him so long to figure it out, can’t believe he didn’t realize it earlier, didn’t realize until the answer was practically in his lap.

“Hm, yes, I am your Lu Han hyung, and I always have been,” he says, capping his pen and handing the picture to Jongin.

Jongin takes it and stares at his own face. It's blurry, not because it isn't dry, but because it's out of focus, from Lu Han taking the picture too close to his face. You can just see the outline of Jongin's visage, his nose, lines where his eyes are sleepily lidded. 

“You were the one who was sending me those creepy envelopes with polaroids in them...You were the one who took all the pictures,” Jongin accuses.

“And sent you on a merry little chase back into Sehun's bed, yes, that was me. I also managed to clear everyone out of your way, including fans by the way, when you finally went back to the SM building, and then I even hustled everyone in EXO out into various apartments and made them sleep on floors and packed together like sardines so that you could come to this home and not feel terrified that people wanted to talk to you, and wanted you to talk. All this just to allow you to do all the required reflecting, you know,” Lu Han says, snatching back the polaroid from his hand. “I think it's appropriate that I inform you we very nearly didn't make it out in the time and almost ran into you because Wu Fan was being a fucker and taking hours in the bathroom. I nearly killed someone because I was so stressed out that everything wasn’t going to work out according to my plan just because Wu Fan didn’t wait the full fifteen minutes for his facial mask.”

“That's some messed up shit, hyung, like what if something happened between the time the first envelope was sent and now and I never got here?”

“I did consider sending you on one of those cliché introspective road trips, like the ones they have in the movies, where the protagonist goes off and does all that soul searching and the miraculously finds themselves and then comes back ten times the person that they used to be...But I thought it would take too long, there were more uncontrolled variables, and you probably wouldn't have the resources. There was also the danger that you'd end up getting lost in the middle of nowhere and it would have been more trouble than it was worth, really. 

Suddenly, he looks at Jongin sharply. 

“I hope you kept all the polaroids! If you're really attached to any of the pictures, I can make you copies, but those are mine, they are a valuable part of my collection, in ten years when the fans have money, I will auction these polaroids off for thousands of dollars.”

“You're weird, hyung.” Jongin eyes him strangely before his face softens. “How did you know it was going to work out? How did you know I was going to be in the phone booth or that I would actually go to the cafe or that I'd come here?”

Lu Han shrugs at him in an infuriating way, like somehow he knows all the details, but they're not important enough to share with Jongin. He suddenly feels like a lab rat again, and realizes that if anyone here's the cat, it's definitely, without a doubt, Lu Han.

But then Lu Han notices that he's unsettled by the lack of answer and he says, “Jongin-ah, your stage name is Kai. It means to open. You open doors, you follow paths, you unlock the clues. And at any rate, you're here aren't you? That's all that matters.”

This gives Jongin pause. “Wait, come to think of it, why am I here?” He fidgets a little. “Why am I here, and not at Sehun's rehabilitation centre?”

Lu Han arches an eyebrow at him. “Yes, indeed, why aren't you at Sehun's side?” 

He hands Jongin a polaroid of the Seoul Rehabilitation Hospital with an address and a room number penned neatly at the bottom. Jongin realizes for the first time how good Lu Han is to everyone. 

“Thank you,” he says, suddenly grateful. Lu Han waves a hand at him. “I mean, for everything,” Jongin finishes, and bolts out of the room. 

He takes the stairs down three at a time, jumps the landings, and runs out across the crosswalk, weaving past people to hail down a taxi. He reads the address off the polaroid and leans back into his seat.

The fidgeting starts immediately after they begin driving. At first it's just him shifting positions in his seat, unable to find a spot comfortable enough, or maybe just too energetic to sit still.

His fingers drum on his knee, and then the armrest, and he stares out the window, watching the storefronts, buildings, and people who they drive by, thinking that each of them has their own little world, their own bubble, but all of their bubbles are touching each other and you can't lock yourself away forever.

He bites at his lip, and fiddles with his phone, too distracted to focus on any of the games, but too bouncy to simply do nothing and watch as the scenery goes by. Even his music doesn't interest him, no song can hold his attention long enough so he keeps skipping by them, and he doesn't find anything that he really wants to listen to. He is so impatient, so, so impatient to see Sehun. Jongin doesn't allow himself to second-guess himself, be hesitant, or question anything. After paying the cab driver, he runs out of the car, slamming the door behind him, and straight through the automatic door into the hospital. 

“Excuse me, sir, may I ask you to slow down?” The receptionist barks out at him. Jongin looks at her and she points to a sign on the wall that indicates no running, and requests for quiet voices. He bows his head.

“If you don’t have a visitor’s pass, you should sign in here,” she says. 

He approaches the desk in a speed walk and grabs the pen from her hand. She hands him a binder and points to where he needs to fill out his name, time of entrance, and guest number. Jongin scribbles in the answers almost illegibly and thanks the receptionist as she hands him a visitor’s pass. He slings it around his neck without a thought and almost breaks out into a jog again, before she clears her throat. 

He excuses himself and finds his way to the elevator, giving the up button a jab, and adds several extra pushes as if that will get the elevator to him any faster. He taps his foot as he waits, wills them to move faster, counts the seconds it takes to get from floor to floor and calculates how long it is until one of them will arrive on the ground floor. 

When it finally empties and Jongin gets on, he nearly closes the doors on a frail looking old man with a cane. He presses the doors-open button only in the nick of time, and even though they smile at each other, and he's thanked for holding the door open, Jongin still wishes that everything would move faster. 

Going up the elevator seems to drag on even longer than it took for the elevator to arrive at the first floor. It feels like they stop at every other floor for someone to come on and smile at him, and every time he smiles back, the grin on his face is more and more strained. 

An automated voice finally announces his level and he sprints out of the elevator doors, has to skid to a halt to avoid crashing into someone, and finally bursts through the door to Sehun's room in order to find him not there. 

Zitao is sitting in a chair beside the bed with a glossy magazine spread across his lap. The page is open to something about nail art if the picture is any indication, but the writing is in Chinese and Jongin can’t understand it. Zitao looks passively at his fingernails and examines them. When he’s done scrutinizing them, he finally looks up at the open door and sees Jongin. If he's at all surprised by his presence, he doesn't show it on his face at all.

“Uh, wha-? What are you doing here? What? Where?” Jongin comments, confused.

“I'm glad to see you're as articulate as ever, Jongin!” Zitao says to him in a cheery voice, before looking back down at whatever he's reading.

“Where's...”

“Sehun is getting some much needed sunshine in the hospital courtyard,” Zitao says without looking up at him. Jongin is frozen as Zitao flips a page. “Hmm...” he says to himself, “My cuticles are in worse shape than I thought.”

Jongin is still rooted to the spot, at a loss. 

After a moment, Zitao shuts the magazine closed and frowns. “Well, what are you waiting for?” he asks in a huff. “Get going!”

Jongin doesn't need to be told that again, and doesn't bother trying to get ahold of an elevator this time. Instead, he takes the stairs down and follows the signs to the gardens. He bursts through the archway out into the courtyard and sees the figure of Sehun sitting for the first time in months. It’s the sight of him, so familiar, yet unfamiliar at the same time that makes him stop himself. He stands there and can't help but call out, “Sehun-ah.”

There’s a moment that feels like eternity as Jongin’s voice carries and echoes around the arches surrounding the courtyard. The figure’s head stills, his back straightens, and he becomes rigid. 

Sehun turns his head slowly over his left shower, to look back at where Jongin is standing. His hair blows gently in the spring breeze. Their eyes meet. 

 

A million thoughts run through Jongin's mind. Things to say. Things to do. The past few months flash in front of his eyes, every word, every move, and every desire at Jongin's fingertips. He's imagined this moment since Lu Han first set his plan into motion, he's wanted it for longer than he knew. It's nothing like he imagined. He isn't sure and steady; Sehun isn't running back into his arms. There are so many variables. There are too many what ifs because of how long it's been since they last saw each other. It's been so long. 

Too long. 

They hold each other's gazes for a long time before their eye contact breaks. Almost at the exact same moment as Sehun looks away, Jongin averts his gaze to the ground. Jongin can hear his heart pounding in his chest, can feel his pulse even in his throat, and feels like he's about to collapse or explode. He can't decide which. Sehun turns back to face the garden in front of him, Jongin blinks and sees row upon row of huge blossoms in pink, yellow, red, and white. 

Time slows, thick and viscous as it flows around them. Here, in this space, they are free from it, and time no longer matters to them. 

A breath. Two breaths. Jongin doesn't breathe. 

There's a moment of calm. It's broken suddenly.

“Hyung,” Sehun's voice calls. It isn't clear. It isn't filled with the arrogant confidence that Jongin is used to. When was the last time Sehun had called him hyung anyway?

“Hyung,” he calls out again, voice a little louder, with a little more assuredness as it rings through the courtyard, resounding off of brick and concrete, “The zinnias are blossoming beautifully this year, aren't they?”

The zinnias, thoughts of absent friends. White; goodness, scarlet; constancy, yellow; daily remembrance, pink; lasting affection. Not that Jongin knows what the meanings of the flowers are. 

Sehun takes a deep shuddering breath, inhaling the air to force down the sob that's about to rise from his throat. It calms him enough to say, “They're spring blossoms, or at least that's what I was told. And yet, in the summer, you still see them in parks too. Somehow, they manage to survive for an entire two seasons. So I thought about that, and I guess they're the most resilient. They're waiting until every one of us has seen them before they shed their petals.”

A butterfly lands on one of them, and its colour matches the yellow of the flower. It's the same kind of butterfly as the one that had landed on Sehun's shoulder all those months ago, a yellow swallowtail with an intricate black and red pattern on its pale yellow wings. 

Jongin takes a single step forward.

The butterfly does not fly away. 

Jongin takes another step forward.

On the bench, Sehun is trembling. Gently, so that Jongin can't notice. He clasps his hands together, laces his fingers tightly and firmly. He rests his hands lightly on his lap. There's a thin beige blanket covering his legs, and it absorbs the few tears that Sehun can't clench back. He bows his head.

Jongin takes a step forward. 

A chill runs through him. He wants to reach out, he wants to turn back, and he wants to, he wants – he wants a lot of things, but mostly he wants Sehun. If he'll have him. 

“Hey, hyung,” Sehun says, and pauses. Jongin wishes he would stop with his hyung this and hyung that. It unnerves him, like there's a space between them, a chasm, a distance too wide to be crossed. But it can be closed. Jongin thinks. Jongin thinks that he would travel to the end of the universe and back to reach Sehun. 

Had Sehun rehearsed his speech? He's not usually this articulate or rehearsed, much less insightful. Maybe it was just that Sehun had always been making profound observations without Jongin realizing. Sehun's playful immaturity had made it seem like there wasn't a grown young man underneath. Or, maybe, just maybe, and it breaks Jongin's heart to think about this, but while he was running away from doing what the mature thing would have been to do, Sehun had grown up without him. 

And then, Sehun's soft voice cuts through the air and in its gentleness, pierces straight through Jongin's heart. 

“Why won't you hurry up and look at me before my petals start to curl and fall too?”

Jongin takes a step forward.

And runs. 

He feels like he's running forever, always chasing something he can't picture in his mind, but he's close, he's so close he can taste it, he reaches out his arm, and grabs it close. 

Jongin halts suddenly behind Sehun and whispers his name, just once, not like he's ever called Sehun before.

“Sehun-ah,” he says. His voice is filled with love, inflected with pain, desire, guilt. It's gentle, and melancholic, desperate and firm. _Sehun_ , he says, but he really means so many more things that he can't actually say, he wishes he could speak but he doesn't know _how_ , and he hopes that Sehun can understand his heart without him voicing what's in it. 

Sehun closes his eyes, shuts them so tightly. He feels alive, so alive, and wishes for himself to never wake up from this dream he's living. 

Sehun closes his eyes and Jongin takes a step around to face him. He doesn't ask Sehun to open them. He looks, and looks, soaks up the sight of Sehun in front of him. Sehun is solid and real, it's no longer a dream, a picture, a memory, a shadow. He wishes he could breathe. 

He falls. 

Not in love, no, Jongin had fallen in love years and years ago. 

He's crashing down, freefalling from the glass case he's built around himself to reality. 

Falling, falling, and he sinks to his knees. 

His fingers reach out slowly, arm shaking but heart unwavering. His touch is so gentle that Sehun doesn't even flinch when he feels the pads of Jongin's fingers tracing his cheekbone, thumb rubbing against his jawline. 

Sehun opens his eyes and watches Jongin. 

Jongin doesn't look him in the eye. He's staring at Sehun with fascination, like he's rediscovering Sehun. He cups his face, slides his hands down Sehun's neck, the index finger of his right hand brushing against Sehun's Adam's apple. He feels Sehun swallow, and brings his head to Sehun's shoulders. He grips them, before pressing against Sehun's arms, squeezes his biceps gently, and caresses the inside of Sehun's elbows with his thumbs. Sehun holds up his hands.

Sehun's tongue slips out of his mouth to wet his lips when Jongin presses their palms against each other, looking at the difference between the sizes of their fingers, eyes dark and intent. He clasps them together briefly before lowering his hands and ghosts over Sehun's thighs. 

“I'm not going to break,” Sehun says but his voice begins to break even as he says it, and he thinks he's going to break into a million tiny pieces from the way Jongin is touching him as if he's fine china, delicate, fragile, and he thinks his heart is being crushed, the wall between them is still there even though they're touching, and he thinks he's going to be suffocated by its presence. And then Sehun does break when Jongin looks up and meets his eyes. Jongin's lips part and Sehun can't hold it in anymore, he can't, he can't, and he reaches out and pulls Jongin towards him, and Jongin, Jongin's been numb for months, but here, in Sehun's arms, he finally, finally breaks down and cries. 

He hiccups and can't stop, cries, cries, and cries, Jongin cries until Sehun's shirt is soaked against him and he feels gross. His sobs are so intense that they wrack his entire body, and the tears that pour down his face won't let up, and he can't stop from heaving, making childish noises and he knows his face is a mess but he presses his cheek against Sehun's chest and clings to Sehun's waist. It feels desperate, so desperate, as if one if them is about to leave and they won't see each other for the rest of their lives instead of the exact opposite, instead of finally being together like this for the first time in months. 

His throat is sore and his lips dry but he opens his mouth and says, “I'm sorry Sehun-ah, I'm sorry. I love you. I'm so sorry, so so sorry. I love you.” He repeats it, over and over again, like a mantra, and Sehun's tears are spilling down into Jongin's hair and Sehun can't control the expression on his face. For the sake of the other members, he's held back for so long, but here, here, he lets himself go and cries so genuinely that he can't tell if it's from grief or relief. 

They stay like that for longer than either of them will ever care to admit, crying and hugging. 

 

The sky is starting to turn pink when Jongin sits down beside Sehun. He tentatively leaves a small space between them, but Sehun secretly struggles to breach the gap between them and allows their thighs to touch. Sehun grins at Jongin and Jongin has to smile too.

It's another while longer before Jongin can speak again, voice scratchy. “I am sorry. All of this...It's my fault.”

Sehun narrows his eyes and turns to face Jongin. “Why...are you apologizing? What exactly are you talking about? What's your fault?”

“I, in the car, I should have, when we were sitting, I knew you were tired, and I should have made you sit beside Lu Han,” Jongin starts.

“If you were in the middle, if you were sitting where I was then none of this would have happened, if I hadn't been so fucking stupid, you wouldn't be here, you're closer with Lu Han hyung anyway, and I don't know why I thought I should sit in the middle considering I move around so much that someone leaning against me wouldn't be able to sleep, and you were so tired, and if you were in the middle then you wouldn't have been hurt, or at least, not too badly anyway, and then you'd be able to, like I don't know, dance, or something,” Jongin finishes in a rush and grips the edge of the bench tightly. He’s panting a little because he hadn’t paused to draw breath in the middle of his rambling.

To his surprise, Sehun laughs at him. His eyes curve and his mouth opens and he doesn't bother to cover it. The laugh is full and just as tinkling and beautiful sounding as Jongin had remembered it. And Jongin forgets why he’s laughing for a brief moment.

“That's stupid even for you, Jongin.”

Jongin’s eyes narrow. “Hey, wait a second.” 

Sehun doesn't let him interrupt. “No one can wake up one morning and predict that someone will ram into your car that day. You can't change things like that. It's life. And whatever happens, happens. You can't take those things back, so you might as well try to move to a better future.”

Jongin is suddenly hit with a wave of regret of having missed watching Sehun grow and mature through this ordeal. Regrets not seeing him get up after a fall, and rising up to become someone much more wonderful than Jongin could ever deserve. It makes him realize the part of him that he's tried not to acknowledge for so long, the part of him that cared more than he wanted to let others know. He cared deeply and genuinely but he wasn't sure how to let that show. 

For some reason, he wants to defend himself because that misconception has been what carried his avoidance for the entire time of his absence. He opens his mouth before he can form an argument in his head, but Sehun beats him. 

“Even if you had let me sit beside Lu Han hyung, then you would have been in my place. You would have been lying in a hospital bed for eight weeks while none of the doctors let you do anything but sit up and lie down. And then you'd have to learn all this walking, running, dancing thing again and Jongin, I don't know if you've forgotten, but you fucking love dancing.”

Jongin splutters, “But you dance too!”

Sehun gives him a look. “I dance, but I dance because it's something to do. It's fun, I guess. But to be perfectly honest, I wouldn't really care about having to relearn movement. For you, if you had lost your entire range of motion in one leg, I don't think you would have been patient about it. You'd have been reckless and stupid, and we all know you can't handle sitting still for too long. I like dancing. But you, you don't just like dancing. It's not even just that you love dancing, but you need to dance.”

Jongin's mind flashes back to an interview room. 

_“Do you want to dance?” They asked him._

_Jongin shook his head, and told them, “No, I need to dance.”_

_He thanked George Balanchine_.

Even though there were months when they hadn't seen each other, Sehun knows Jongin better than Jongin knows himself.

“I'll be back soon, to my usual self I mean. I can already walk. It hurts if I walk for too long, but I'm working on it. I don't always improve from day to day. But slowly, week by week, I've learned to be a little bit more independent.”

Sehun bites his lip and turns to Jongin. “I won't pretend that it didn't hurt. It hurt. A lot. It still hurts. But nothing hurt as much as waking up without my best friend. Day after day, I hoped he would come visit me, and every single day I waited for him,” he says, trying to keep his voice as light as he can.

Jongin's breath hitches and he lowers his head. 

Sehun continues, “I just wanted to tell him all the small things about my life. When the food was bad. When my ankle stopped giving me grief. When my knee stopped locking up. Every small improvement, I turned around and was excited to tell him and show him. But he wasn't there.”

He feels so ashamed of himself, and the regrets keep building and building. He had lost so much more than he thought he had.

“I was really sad when I never got to see him. I didn't know why he wasn't there. I couldn't figure out what it was that I had done wrong. But then one day, on the best day of my life, he showed up and I realized he was just being an idiot. I bet he thinks I still blame him, even know, after I've explained that I don't think anything's his fault. I bet he's still being an idiot.”

Sehun lifts Jongin's chin with one hand and touches his face with the other and kisses him. He kisses him slowly, sweetly, and simply. It’s a kiss that speaks of what was, what could have been, and what might be. Jongin brings a hand up behind Sehun's head and kisses back, softly. It's nothing like the sloppy, wet kisses of two horny boys seeking release under the sheets late at night. The feeling is strange and new and makes his skin tingle. For the first time in his life, he understands what people mean when they say they feel butterflies in their stomach.

Sehun breaks the kiss and raises an eyebrow. He looks at Jongin seriously and says, “But you know what, Jongin-ah? I really, really really, really really really love that idiot.”

He leans forward and presses their lips together again and Jongin feels complete. 

 

Jongin will never forgive Lu Han for sneaking up on them and taking a picture of them then. It was a private moment, and something he thinks is too intimate to be shared. The privacy breach feels worse than if Lu Han secretly filmed a sex tape of them together (and Jongin isn’t one to put that quite past Lu Han). 

“You really couldn’t have, I don’t know, left us alone for us to have like a peaceful reconciliation? Like what a normal person would have done?” Jongin huffs.

Lu Han argues “But it was time for dinner! The meals are timed, and Sehun hadn’t come back to his room so I was looking for him in case something bad happened because you were being stupid again.”

(“I am not stupid!”)

“So I was going to interrupt you anyway, and then I saw you guys and it was just too cute! I couldn’t pass up a moment like that, those times are when my camera comes in handy the most.” Jongin probably would have relented a little bit if Lu Han hadn’t taken that moment to pinch his cheek. 

Sehun just laughs at him. 

Jongin definitely does not request for a copy of the polaroid afterward.

 

Upon Jongin’s return to the dorms, the general consensus by the rest of the members seems to be to act like nothing had happened, and pretend that Jongin hadn’t disappeared for half a year. 

Yixing is the first one who greets him brightly.

“I, well I mean, uh, so if you get some like, free time, can you uh, help me? Uh, help me work on um, choreography?”

Jongin agrees readily and is awed by how Yixing’s smile stays on his face for the next few days, unfazed by the spill Kyungsoo had made after flinching violently and knocking over the water jug when Jongin attempted to drape his arm around his neck.

 

Later, at dinner, Minseok pushes Jongin’s hand out of the way for last piece of kimchi and when Jongin opens his mouth to protest, Minseok pushes the chopsticks into Jongin’s mouth and Jongin almost chokes. He chews on the kimchi gratefully and pats Minseok on the cheek.

“You need to be careful,” Minseok says to him. “I think Lu Han is rubbing off on you.” 

“Never,” Jongin replies. “I will never be a fan of Manchester United,” he swears. 

 

Jongdae is more confident and outspoken about making Joonmyeon’s life miserable at every given opportunity. He corners Joonmyeon outside the bathroom and Jongin catches him hissing, “If you do not clean your shit up off the goddamn floor, so help me god I will take a damn picture of your collection of silk thongs and send it to all of the anti-cafes and you can pay to keep them silent.” 

Jongin tilts his head and files that bit of information away for future use.

 

Wu Fan disappears for Skype dates with _someone_ he insists is his mother, but Jongin knows no one likes to talk to their parents more than once a week. 

 

Chanyeol and Baekhyun are more annoying than ever after Jongin had gotten to living in relative silence. They also seem disposed to including Jongin in their loudest games and refuse to let Jongin go to bed even when he tells them he has a headache.

“Are you kidding me? It’s like, midnight! We have so many hours left, and you want to sleep?” Baekhyun says, bewildered.

Chanyeol punches Jongin in the arm, harder than strictly necessary, and Jongin whimpers.

 

Zitao is the only person who really confronts him about his absence. 

“Jongin-ah, you haven’t showered yet right? You better show with me or else the water will be cold by the time it’s your turn.” 

Jongin thinks it’s harmless because it’s the exact kind of behaviour they’ve all come to expect from him. 

He is so very wrong. He’s in the middle of rinsing shampoo out of his hair when he feels something pointy jab into his ribs. It’s Zitao’s elbow. He looks up, perplexed. 

“So everyone knows that you and Sehun are a thing. And that’s fine, it’s cute, but.” Zitao narrows his eyes. 

“You really fucked up badly,” Zitao says and Jongin wants to know who taught him to swear. 

“So if you hurt Sehun ever again, I will _kill_ you.” He points the shampoo bottle at Jongin aggressively and Jongin just nods vigorously and speeds up his shower process to get out of the small, enclosed space with Zitao. 

He runs out of the shower as fast as he can to find Chanyeol on the sofa talking in a voice quieter than he’s ever heard Chanyeol speak in his life. Baekhyun is ignoring him for whatever is on TV.

“Thanks for that, by the way. I’ll text you to see when I can try to sneak out next. Of course. Yeah,” Chanyeol finishes and hangs up.

“Who was that?” Jongin asks as soon as Chanyeol hangs up and Chanyeol jumps. Baekhyun looks at them from the corner of his eye.

“Man, don’t scare people like that!”

Jongin is undeterred. “Who was that?” 

“I-”

Baekhyun begins to giggle.

“That was your girlfriend wasn’t it?” 

Baekhyun cackles.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to be angry too!”

“What?” Jongin asks, taking a pause from laughing.

“Baekhyun refused to talk to me for weeks when he found out.” 

He looks at Baekhyun who shakes his head and can’t stop laughing.

“Apparently I’m supposed to tell my best friend when I have a girlfriend, what kind of obligation is that?”

Jongin gets the last laugh.

 

SM doesn’t hold a press conference until eight months after the accident, when Sehun can finally start running again on his own. Actually, it might have nothing to do with Sehun being able to run again. Jongin doesn’t really understand the way their company or management works, and doesn’t think he’ll ever figure that out while he’s a member of EXO. 

“It’ll be in a week. Joonmyeon, Wu Fan, prepare to be present there. Here are the standard questions and replies. Study them,” their manager says. 

Jongin pipes up for reasons unknown. “Can I be there?” 

Wu Fan’s jaw drops and Jongin wonders if that was a bad idea.

Their manager looks at him, “Um, yeah I’ll talk to management. We’ll see.” 

Before he realizes what’s going on, he’s being given a thirty page briefing that he’s supposed to not only memorize, but be able to make his own. 

“Jonginnie is taking on responsibilities!” Joonmyeon says, ecstatic. 

Jongin looks at the stack of paper in his hands and quietly mourns his free time. 

Luckily, his face does not break out the morning of the conference. They walk into the room and Jongin almost falls off his chair when he sits down because there is a lot more camera flashing than Jongin is capable of handling. Their representative says a bunch of fancy and useless words, and apologizes for EXO’s sudden hiatus and the delay of their return. More cameras flash. His explanation about Sehun’s injury is close to nonexistent and the press scribble it all down. There will be a lot more speculating, but at least SM isn’t just hiding anymore. Will they stop taking pictures of them?

“Suho-ssi, can you please present a message to the fans?” A reporter asks. Suho is all leader and business-like when he responds. Jongin resists the urge to roll his eyes and tunes out whatever’s being said. He suddenly wishes he never asked to be here in the first place. No wonder why Wu Fan had looked at him so funny.

He could be in a studio with Yixing right now. Or eating. Or sleeping. Or gaming even. He’s in the middle of generating a list of things he could be doing when he hears his name and is startled out of his thoughts.

“Kai-ssi,” a reporter says, “please tell us how Sehun’s injury is affecting EXO right now.” 

The reply is not from Kai, nor does it represent EXO. It is Kim Jongin who says, “Our Sehun-ah is the most precious person in the world to us right now. We will show him our love to give him strength.” He means it from the bottom of his heart.


End file.
